


Risky Business

by lilyfanciesprongs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyfanciesprongs/pseuds/lilyfanciesprongs
Summary: Hermione wasn't the type of witch who would enter into this sort of arrangement with anyone, and even if she had been, Draco Malfoy certainly wouldn't have been her first choice, but there wasn't anything inherently wrong about it, was there? She was an adult, and she was allowed to lighten up and enjoy herself. Rated 'Explicit' for language and sexual content. COMPLETE.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge fic presented to me by my boyfriend. His conditions were:
> 
> 1) Main pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger  
> 2) Ron and Hermione are on good terms with each other; they never got married.  
> 3) Ginny is dating Blaise Zabini. Ginny and Hermione are close friends.  
> 4) The following line must be used: “I don’t think I’d be into that.” The person who says it must turn out to be very ‘into that’.  
> 5) Harry is an Auror, Draco works at the Ministry as an expert/consultant on Dark Magic. They get along well.  
> 6) A Grindylow, Newt Scamander, a tiger and a hippo must appear at some point in the story.  
> 7) There should be black velvet somewhere. There should also be red velvet.  
> 8) Fred is alive and he and George must play a prank on Hermione or challenge her to a dare, which ends up being good for her in the long run.  
> 9) Time frame: around five years after the War.
> 
> Songs mentioned:  
> Youth - Daughter  
> Pretty Thing – Bo Diddley  
> Kings of the Wild Frontier – Adam & The Ants
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters, names, places and things you recognize belong to JK Rowling. Her world, I'm just playing with it.

_“We’re all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine.”_ — _Unknown._

* * *

( _Youth -_ November 1st, 2003 – Brixton, London)

The chill settled heavily around Hermione’s shoulders, the heels of her boots tapping briskly on the sidewalk as she walked away from his building. The knot in her throat grew inexplicably tighter, her breath creating small puffs of white smoke in the night air. The street was fairly busy despite the cold, and she registered the chatter of a crowd of muggles exiting the nearby cinema.

She decided to walk until she calmed down enough to Apparate to her own flat in Camden, as splinching herself would be less than ideal. She took deep breaths then, watching as the white fog escaped her mouth. She knew he wouldn’t follow her, not after all that had just been said, and she couldn’t yet decide if that was a good or bad thing. She thought of the look in his eyes as she left, the unopened bottle of Pinot noir on the table...

 _No_ , she berated herself, _it’s for the best._

One salty tear rolled down her cheek, leaving an icy trail. Another followed, and then another.

“Damn it,” she choked out. Taking another deep breath to steady herself, she continued on her way until she found an alleyway into which she could slip and Apparate without being detected by the muggles in the street. Ignoring the prickling in her eyes as she closed them, she turned on the spot and left the empty alleyway behind her.

* * *

 

( _Pretty Thing -_ December 24th, 2002 – The Ministry of Magic, London)

“Hermione! Oi, Hermione!”

The witch turned at the mention of her name, spotting the person who called out to her within seconds: her flatmate, Ginny, accompanied at one of the tables by Blaise Zabini, Fred and George and the latter’s girlfriend, Angelina Johnson. Hermione waved but did not approach the table, gesturing instead to the bar behind her.

“I’ll be right there!” she called back, turning to the bar.

“Can I get you anything?” asked the bartender, a young blonde witch wearing a Santa hat and a red velvet dress that could only be described by Hermione as _what Santa Claus would wear if Santa suddenly woke up and found himself to be a woman... and a stripper._

“I’ll have a glass of Pinot noir, please,” Hermione said. A few moments later, drink in hand, she made her way to the table occupied by her friends.

“I told you she’d come,” Ginny said to the twins as Hermione took a seat, setting her charmed beaded bag on the table. The twins handed a couple galleons each to their younger sister, and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“They bet you wouldn’t come. I warned them against it, seeing as how persuasive this one can be,” Blaise explained, kissing his girlfriend softly on the cheek. Ginny smiled.

“I’m glad my showing face is lucrative for you, at least,” Hermione said to her friend, smiling a bit in spite of herself.

“Well, come on now, you can’t really blame us for doubting,” Fred spoke up.

“No offense, ‘Mione,” said George, taking a sip of his drink. “But these events aren’t really your thing, are they?”

“No, I guess not,” Hermione conceded. As the others went back to their conversation, she took in the decor around her. The annual Christmas party was being held in the Atrium of the Ministry, the entire place decked out to the nines in holiday cheer: Christmas trees, ornaments, tinsel, servers dressed like Santa’s elves and even snow dropping from the high ceiling, disappearing into thin air a few feet above them. Hermione watched as sprigs of mistletoe floated around the room, stopping every so often to catch an unsuspecting couple underneath.

Hermione snapped back into the conversation just as the others were discussing the whereabouts of Blaise’s best friend and fellow former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy. Mostly due to his relationship with Ginny, Blaise got on well with all the Weasleys, and he and Hermione had become friendly since he’d begun working at the Ministry about three years prior. Draco, on the other hand, had become friendly with the Weasleys, as well as Harry, through his job at the Ministry as a consultant on experimental and Dark magic for the Auror Office. This same job had forced him and Hermione to interact on a few occasions, mostly through investigative work on cases she took on in the Department of Magical Law-Enforcement. It had been rocky at first, but eventually the two had reached an understanding, putting aside their differences and letting go of childhood grudges and forming an amicable work relationship.

“He should be here any minute,” Blaise was saying to George. “I saw him this morning, he said he’d be here but he would be stopping by Wiltshire to see his mum first.” With a glance at his watch: “It’s a bit late though, so maybe he got a little side-tracked...”

“I’m actually right here, Zabini,” came a voice, and they all looked up to see Draco approaching the table, drink in hand. He was wearing a black suit, impeccably tailored to the broader shoulders and back he sported since the War. They all greeted him as he took the vacant seat beside Hermione.

“Nice dress, Granger,” he commented. “Slytherin’s a nice colour on you.”

Hermione, who had been distracted by the conversation, glanced down at her deep green, long sleeved wrap dress and frowned at the wizard.

“What?” he defended. “It’s true. I’ve never seen you in green before.”

“It suits the festivities well enough, don’t you think?” Hermione said.

“Naturally, though I was expecting you to wear something more…” he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink.

“More what?”

He smirked. “Gryffindor.”

Hermione felt the corners of her mouth turning upwards as she rolled her eyes. “I think there are enough women here wearing red, don’t you?”

“You mean the bartender?” he smirked again, his enjoyment of the blonde witch’s outfit evident in his expression. She slapped him on the wrist at that, reaching for her half-empty glass of wine. Draco eyed her drink curiously as she took a sip.

“No firewhisky?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Does the crabby old man drinking Scotch and soda dare judge me?” He shrugged. “If you must know, Firewhisky gives me the most dreadful headaches. I prefer to stick with wine, thank you.”

“Don’t let her fool you, Malfoy,” George stepped in. “She just can’t handle firewhisky.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, offended. “I certainly can!”

“I’m not so sure,” Angelina said with a grin. “Remember when we went out for Ginny’s birthday?”

Ginny laughed at that. “We practically had to levitate her home, Ange, she probably doesn’t remember.”

Hermione blushed at the memory, feeling her temper rise as the others chuckled. “That was gin, not firewhisky. And I _do_ remember that I drank more than any of you.”

“True, but you still can’t hold more than a couple shots of any hard liquor, can you?” Ginny asked.

“Sure, I can,” she defended.

“Prove it,” said Fred suddenly. Hermione blinked.

“What?”

“Prove it,” said both twins this time. “We dare you to.”

Hermione stared at them. “A drinking contest?”

The twins nodded. Hermione attempted to protest: “But it’s not really a contest if I drink alone and seeing as none of you seem willing—”

“I’ll do it,” said Draco.

They all stared at him.

Hermione looked at him as though he’d suddenly turned into a Grindylow and was inviting her to be strangled with his long, green fingers.

“Come on, Granger. We’ll match each other shot for shot until the lesser drinker falls. If I win, you get me a bottle of scotch. If you win, I’ll get you a bottle of that wine you like so much.”

Hermione thought about it. A free bottle of Pinot noir seemed tempting, and getting everyone off her back about being a lightweight when it came to drinking was an added plus. “Alright,” she said finally. “I’m in.”

A few minutes later, the scantily clothed bartender had set down the first two shots on the bar before them. The others crowded around, watching as each took one of the glasses and raised it in a toast. Hermione eyed the liquor in her glass.

“Tequila?”

“Bottoms up, Granger,” said Malfoy, handing her a lemon wedge.

Hermione tipped back her head and swallowed back the contents of her glass in one go, feeling the liquor burn her throat before slamming the glass back on the bar at the same time as her adversary, feeling only a mild buzz from the drink as she bit into the lemon. The bartender set down two more shots before them, and Hermione smirked at Malfoy before taking hers and a fresh lemon wedge.

“You can back out at any moment,” he reminded her.

“Never,” she said, downing her shot.

Twenty minutes and eight shots later, Malfoy was pink in the face and Hermione looked a bit unstable on her black pumps. The others watched as neither showed signs of slowing down, and Hermione told the bartender to leave the bottle.

“Who d’you think will cave first?” Angelina asked.

“I thought for sure Hermione would’ve surrendered by now,” Ginny replied. “She just might give us all a run for our money.”

“I wouldn’t count on Draco giving in just yet,” said Blaise. “I think they’ve both got a few shots left in them before anyone gives in.”

They watched as Hermione and Draco downed one, two, three more shots each. At the third, Fred was distracted from chatting up the bartender by his brother.

“Oi, Fred,” George whispered in his ear. “Look at that.”

“What?” Fred asked, rather irritable as the bartender walked away to tend to someone’s drink. George pointed above Draco and Hermione’s heads. Fred’s eyes locked on the mistletoe floating above them, and a mischievous grin stole his features.

George nudged Angelina in the ribs, who in turn pointed the plant out Ginny and Blaise.

“You don’t really think they’ll kiss, do you?” Ginny whispered in Blaise’s ear.

The wizard watched his best friend carefully. “I know Draco wouldn’t be entirely— _opposed_ to the idea.”

Ginny looked at him, taken aback. “You think he fancies Hermione?”

Blaise shook his head. “No, but he finds her attractive enough. You have to admit she’s become quite the looker since Hogwarts.”

Ginny nodded, watching the two carefully. Hermione had certainly grown up since school. Her hair had been tamed from its wild ways, falling down her back in soft waves, her fringe stopping just short of her brown eyes. After her breakup with Ron a few years back, Ginny had encouraged Hermione to embrace her figure, which she no longer hid under baggy jumpers and robes, and the dress she wore that night hugged her chest and waist nicely before falling loosely to her knees. Ginny thought Draco—or any wizard, for that matter—would have to be mad not to notice the fact that Hermione, on top of being incredibly brilliant, talented and successful, was a stunning witch.

Hermione, meanwhile, was giggling to herself. The tequila had muddled her head a bit, and an older witch sitting a few tables away suddenly bore a striking resemblance to one of the tutu-wearing, dancing hippos in a cartoon she watched with her parents as a child. When she pointed this out to Draco, he mentioned that the old witch was in fact, an older aunt of his on his father’s side and they both laughed.

She was called out of her reverie by Fred’s voice, and when she looked over at the ginger wizard, he was pointing at something above her and Draco. She looked up and her eyes went wide.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” she said.

Draco, distracted in the act of pouring their next round, looked up to see what exactly what she was looking at and his slate grey eyes went wide as well with what he saw.

About two feet above Hermione’s head was a floating sprig of mistletoe with a red ribbon tied around the stem.

The two looked at each other, just about ready to ignore the offending plant and get on with their drinking when the twins stopped them.

“No chickening out now!”

“You know the rules!”

Hermione glanced at Ginny helplessly, and the latter only shrugged in a manner that Hermione understood to mean _just do it mate, how bad can it be?_

Wordlessly, she took the shot Draco had poured her moments before, downing it. The blond wizard, not wanting to fall behind, also drank his shot before the twins yet again stepped in.

“That’s fourteen shots each,” said Fred.

“Might as well get on with it,” added George, gesturing to the plant above them.

Hermione looked at the wizard in front of her, his cheeks and lips flushed as a result of the liquor they’d been drinking.

“Might as well,” he said finally. She nodded lamely.

In the months to come, Hermione would never be able to accurately recall which of them moved first. The next thing she knew, her hands were wrapped around his neck, his were in her hair and they were kissing. His lips moved purposefully against hers, which parted almost involuntarily, allowing her to really savour the taste of tequila and the tang of the lemon he’d bitten mere seconds before. The seconds passed and soon it seemed as if neither of them needed to come up for air, until the sound of Blaise clearing his throat startled them enough to break apart.

Hermione took a step back, breathing heavily. It took her a moment to really get her bearings... _I’ve been kissing Draco Malfoy! In public! And... Sweet Circe, I enjoyed it!_

Finally looking at him, she saw that he looked nearly as shocked as she felt, breathing raggedly and resting against the bar. She swallowed, allowing herself a glance at the others’ stunned faces before she regained her senses.

“You win, Malfoy,” she said finally. “I—I should go.”

And without another word, she sped off through the Atrium and disappeared in the crowd.

* * *

 

( _Kings of the Wild Frontier -_ February 22nd, 2003 – Draco and Blaise’s penthouse, Brixton, London)

She didn’t see him again until she arrived at his and Blaise’s flat almost two months later, a bottle of wine in one hand and a birthday present for Blaise—cufflinks—in the other. It had been Ginny who convinced her of going, saying “ _you can’t avoid him forever, Hermione_.”

For the past two months, that was exactly what Hermione had done—avoided him altogether. The only contact they’d had was when she owled the owed bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label, and he’d owled back a bottle of Pinot noir—the very bottle she was holding when she walked into the flat—with a note attached.

 _We drank fourteen each. I think this keeps us even._ — _DM._

She’d made the rounds upon arriving, saying hello to a few old classmates from Hogwarts and some people from the Ministry, when finally the search for a corkscrew and a glass led her to the kitchen, and ultimately, to the one wizard she was hell-bent on avoiding.

“Evening, Granger.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Shit, Malfoy. I hadn’t seen you.”

He snorted indignantly. “That much is obvious.”

She fought hard to keep a straight face and not run from the scene. As if suddenly realizing they were alone: “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

She scowled. “Prat. I meant here, in the kitchen, sipping on what I’m guessing is Scotch and soda, instead of out there with the rest of the guests.”

He shrugged, and she noted how the dress shirt he was wearing moulded itself to his form; how the sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, fit his muscular arms snugly. “I fancied some peace and quiet,” he said after a few moments. “You?”

She held up the bottle. “I need a corkscrew.”

He looked confused. “A what?”

“You really aren’t big on wine, are you?” she said. “You know, the metal contraption people use to get the corks out of bottles.”

“I have no idea what you’re on about, Granger. _Muggles_ may use this cork—thing you speak of, but I’ve got other methods.”

She blinked. “What?”

He sighed, walking over to her and extracting his wand from the pocket of his trousers. Taking the bottle of wine from her hands, he set it on the table and tapped the cork with his wand once, causing it to pop out of the bottle.

“For someone so bright, one would think you’d actually remember you _are_ , in fact, a witch.”

She scowled at that, taking the glass he offered her next and serving herself a glass of wine. He leaned back on the counter, taking a sip of his scotch and soda.

“I never thanked you for the wine,” she said after a minute.

“I didn’t thank you for the scotch, either,” he replied. “I’m guessing you liked the wine?”

“Give me a second,” she said. Taking a sip, she savoured it for a moment before replying: “Yes, it’s quite nice. Thank you.”

“You hadn’t opened it?” he asked.

“I hadn’t found the occasion,” she replied simply. “Are you drinking the scotch I got you?”

“Merlin, no,” he said. “That particular scotch is far too nice to waste it away on Blaise’s birthday. I’m saving it for a special occasion.”

She nodded in understanding.

“Tell me, Granger,” he spoke after a minute. “Why is it you like that particular wine so much?”

She had been expecting him to bring up what had happened the past Christmas and was a bit surprised by his question, but she answered honestly nonetheless. “I read once a review on this wine by a Sommelier named Madeline Triffon,” she said, “she’s only the second woman to pass the Master Sommelier test, and the first American woman to do it... She called this wine ‘sex in a glass’. It peaked my interest and I tried it, and it’s been my drink of choice ever since.”

“Sex in a glass?” Draco repeated. “That certainly does make it sound appealing.”

She grinned. “Yeah, it does.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Is it? Sex in a glass?”

She offered the glass to him. “See for yourself.”

He eyed her sceptically, giving the glass a good sniff before tasting its contents, closing his eyes and taking a minute to appreciate the flavour. “Damn,” he said finally. “Yeah, ‘sex in a glass’. I almost like this better than scotch... ‘Almost’ being the key word.”

She chuckled. “I’d share, but I’ve only got the one bottle and I’ve become a little attached to it now.”

“Lucky thing Blaise has a few more around here somewhere.”

She smiled a bit at that. “Lucky indeed.”

A few hours later, they found themselves sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, facing each other. Hermione’s bottle of wine was long gone, as were two of Blaise’s, and they were currently two-thirds into the fourth bottle. The crowd of guests had thinned considerably once midnight had come and gone. Blaise and Ginny had retired to the former’s room after the last guest had left, which left them alone in the sitting room and it was probably this—combined with the amount of wine they’d both consumed—that had put them in such a relaxed position.

She was sitting with her back against the armrest; her legs, clad only in thin stockings, were draped carelessly over his, her shoes still on but occasionally dangling from her toes. Draco, on the other hand, had both his feet firmly planted on the carpet before him. His hair had become tousled in the time that had transpired since they’d met up in the kitchen, and when he leaned over her legs to pour them both another round of wine, Hermione could see that the first two buttons of his shirt were undone.

She’d caught a glimpse of his chest just then, muscles and fair skin and just the tip of a scar—from that curse Harry had hit him with all those years ago, in sixth year—and she thought she’d very much like to see the rest of his chest.

_But that’s just the wine talking, right?_

Someone had told her once that a drunk only carries out the thoughts he had when sober, and she would’ve been lying, she would’ve had to be blind entirely, not to have noticed in the times their paths had crossed that the wizard sitting mere inches from her was indeed, extremely good-looking. He was flushed, both from the alcohol and from laughing at something she’d said, and his features betrayed a genuine smile—a rare one, despite the changes his character had experienced since they were younger.

He was mocking her on her inability to fly on a broom properly when she shoved him —playfully, almost— in the chest, and he caught her hand before she had a chance to withdraw it. He looked at her fingernails, painted a bright, cherry— _Gryffindor_ , he thought—red.

“I like this color on you,” he remarked.

“I thought you preferred me in green,” she shot back without missing a beat, and then their eyes met, and she knew, even through the wine-induced haze, she knew that he was thinking the same thing she was: the kiss, how his so-soft lips had moulded to hers and how his hands had felt in her hair.

Almost as if he had read her thoughts, his eyes locked on her lips, and she mirrored the action, watching his lips, coloured a deep pink from the wine and the light of the fire.

Later on, she would blame the wine—but in that moment, she had no way of knowing if it was the bottles of Pinot noir they’d had or if, had the circumstances been different, she would’ve done what she did.

He didn’t stop her when she breached those final inches between them, surrendering against her lips with a barely-there groan she felt die in the back of her throat.

And then it all went by in a blur.

It was nothing tender, nothing sweet; just raw need and lust-driven, teeth and tongues and lips, and hands roaming everywhere they could reach. His hands had found their way under her skirt, pushing the fabric farther up her thighs until he encountered the lace at the very tops of her stockings. She didn’t stop him, and they kept kissing feverishly, her hands in his silky hair.

Hermione felt his hand move between her thighs, his mouth abandoning her swollen lips to attend to her neck, and his fingers caressed the edge of her knickers, asking for permission. She shifted her hips, allowing him access, and he didn’t waste a single second before dipping his fingers into her folds, slick with arousal. He slipped one, then two fingers inside her without hesitation, pumping into her while his thumb tended to her clit, and it all felt so bloody _good_ to Hermione. The rational voice in her head had been drowned out by her own moans, and the sweet, sticky haze provided by the wine and the knot forming in her gut thanks to Draco’s ministrations were enough to convince her to abandon all reason and just give in.

After what felt like days but might have, in reality, been only minutes, she felt the tension that had been building inside her reach a point where it was almost impossible to bear, and then it snapped; her hips bucked against his hand, her inner walls clenching around Draco’s fingers, her limbs shuddering uncontrollably, and a broken sound halfway between a groan and a whimper escaped her lips.

That was the point of no return for them, she guessed, but they didn’t stop kissing. It was only after a few minutes that they broke apart, both gasping for air, still in each other’s arms, and she found her voice.

“B—bad idea, d’you think?”

“The worst,” he answered with a smirk. He then kissed her again, and Hermione surrendered with a short bark of laughter smothered against his lips when he picked her up and carried her to his room.

* * *

 

(February 23rd, 2003 – Draco and Blaise’s flat – Brixton, London)

The first thing Hermione was aware of when she woke was the softness of the bed she lay in. It was probably one of the most comfortable she’d ever slept in, and she relished in stretching her limbs, not opening her eyes just yet.

The second thing she became aware of was that she was naked under the sheets... And not only that, but she felt a tender soreness coming from between her legs that could only mean one thing...

Her eyes snapped open.

It took her about two seconds to get her bearings, flashes of the previous night dancing behind her eyelids. She sat up, squinting in the light of the early morning—eight a.m., read the clock—clutching the white sheet to her chest and thoroughly refusing to look over her shoulder at the sleeping man beside her.

_Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks... Of all the people in the world to have a one-night stand with... Malfoy? Really, Hermione?_

She quickly located her bra at the foot of the bed, and after a glance around the impeccably decorated room, she saw the most of the rest of her clothes lying on the floor around the bed. She hurriedly got out of bed, slipping her bra, skirt and stockings on before she realized her knickers were nowhere to be found.

“Looking for these?”

_He’s awake._

She turned, arms crossed over her chest, and there he was, bare-chested, the steel grey comforter—thankfully—covering the lower half of his body, leaning back against the cushioned headboard with her pink lace knickers hanging off his finger like a flag.

“Funny, I always thought you were too proper to wear something like this,” he smirked, but she failed to see the humour in the situation, even as a faint blush tinted her cheeks.

“Malfoy... Could you please be so decent as to give me my knickers?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Good morning to you too, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really, Malfoy, give them here. I need to go.”

He cocked is head to the side. “Why is that?”

“You know very well why. Now if you would please give me my knickers so I can go, I’d be grateful.”

“If you’re referring to our activities last night, I still don’t see what problem is.”

She gaped. “You don’t see what the problem is?”

“I really don’t, Granger.”

Sick of his antics, she took her wand out of her skirt pocket and muttered an _accio_. The pink knickers few out of Draco’s hand and she caught them, slipping them on quickly.

“It shouldn’t have happened! Malfoy, we were drunk and wildly irresponsible and it should _not_ have happened and you’re acting entirely too nonchalant about this,” she said, putting on her shirt.

“The fact is it _did_ happen,” he said, still lounging on the bed. “We, two willing and consenting—and yes, drunk—participants, had sex. Several times, if my memory serves.” She blushed again, sitting down on the bed to put on her shoes.

“And I’d like to do it again sometime,” he said then, and her left shoe slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor with a thud. She turned to look at him.

“Don’t look so shocked, Granger,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning upwards in amusement. “I’ve no shame in admitting it: that was probably the best sex I’ve ever had. I enjoyed it, and I know you did too.”

Hermione blushed deeper then, turning her back to him and picking up her fallen shoe. “That’s irrelevant,” she said.

“It’s actually completely relevant... Come on, Granger, you’re honestly saying you wouldn’t want to repeat what we did last night? Perhaps sober?”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, and saw flashes of lips kissing and hands grabbing and his hips moving with hers, filling her up over and over...

_Bad brain._

She cleared her throat, her fingers nimbly pulling her mussed hair into a ponytail. “Even if I did, I’m not the kind of girl who just sleeps with someone for fun, with no commitment or any relation whatsoever between them.”

“You’ve never had a fuckbuddy, Granger?”

“I haven’t.”

“Colour me surprised...”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Frankly, I don’t see the harm in it,” he shrugged. “I’m not seeing anyone, and neither are you, and hell, from what I could gather from last night, shagging you is the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

She took a second to mull over his proposal. Finally: “What happened last night was a one time thing, Malfoy. I shouldn’t have happened in the first place and it won’t happen again. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” She headed for the door.

“Well,” he said, and she wasn’t quite sure why she turned and looked him over. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

* * *

 

(March 9th, 2003 – Hermione and Ginny’s flat, Camden, London)

“Alright, that’s it. Out with it.”

Hermione, without looking away from the television, swallowed before answering. “Out with what?”

“You know what. Stop trying to distract yourself with _Casablanca_ and talk to me.”

Hermione plucked a bit of chicken from the Chinese take-away container with her chopsticks before answering. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about, Gin.”

“What happened with you and Malfoy?”

“Nothing happened,” Hermione said, her eyes still glued to the screen.

“Blaise has asked Draco about it, too, and he’s silent as a grave,” Ginny pressed, also taking a bite of food from her own container and sneaking a look at her best friend. “But I know you well enough to know when something’s bothering you, and you’ve been off the last two weeks. Since Blaise’s birthday. So that can only mean something happened between you two.”

“Nothing happened, Ginny, really,” Hermione insisted.

“Come on, Hermione. You two were all cuddled up on the sofa with a few empty bottles of wine—Blaise nearly had a fit when he saw you drank three of his. And when we woke up the next morning you were gone and Draco was very cryptic about what you two had done after we went to bed. Out with it.”

Hermione sighed. “Well—we—after getting completely pissed, we sort of... snogged on the couch a bit and then we went to his room and...er ... had sex.”

Ginny choked a bit on her latest bite of food, and after recovering, she snatched the remote from Hermione’s hand and turned off the television.

“Oi!” the brunette protested.

“You do not really expect me to just watch the movie like you haven’t revealed something massive,” Ginny said, turning to face Hermione on the couch.

“I do, actually,” Hermione attempted to take back the remote. “Chinese take-away and a movie on Sunday are a tradition, Ginevra. You are spitting in the face of tradition!”

“Don’t try and change the subject, Hermione.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, bollocks. Of course it is. I figured you two had kissed a bit, considering what happened at Christmas, but I didn’t think you’d actually jump the bastard!”

“Ginny,” Hermione said calmly. “I slept with Malfoy because I was drunk. End of. It wouldn’t have happened in other circumstances, and it shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“Why not?” asked Ginny.

“Why not? Are you hearing yourself? Aggripa’s sake, he’s Draco Malfoy. He’s—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘a former Death-Eater’, Hermione,” Ginny warned. “Blaise is one, too. Both of them have changed tremendously in the past five years—hell, you’ve said it yourself, he’s not the snivelling little shite-ball he was at Hogwarts, he’s grown up. He’s turned into a decent bloke and is pretty fantastic company, and you know it. Not to mention he’s easy on the eyes.”

“Be that as it may,” said Hermione. “It was a one-time thing, and it won’t happen again.”

“And why not?” Ginny said. “It wasn’t bad, was it?”

“No,” Hermione granted. “It was pretty fun, to be honest”—she swallowed a bite of food—“not sweet or gentle by any means, but still fun. Probably the best sex I’ve ever had.”

A mischievous grin graced Ginny’s features. “So, did he pin you down?”

“Ginevra!” Hermione scolded, giving her a shove.

“Spank you?”

“Don’t be so crude!”

“What?” countered the ginger. “Two honest questions; did he?”

“ _No_ ,” Hermione said firmly. “Not that I remember, and I remember everything quite clearly. Besides, even if he had, I don’t think I’d be into that.”

“Right,” said Ginny sceptically. “We’ll see about that.”

“Didn’t you hear me? It’s not happening again.”

“I don’t think Draco would complain if it did.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she remembered his offer. “Actually he—” she broke off.

“What?”

“He suggested we do it again. You know, that we have a sort of _arrangement_.”

“What, like fuckbuddies?”

Hermione grimaced. “I really hate that word.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Friends With Benefits?” she tried.

“Technically, we’re not even friends—”

“But you’re not enemies, either.”

“...No, I suppose not.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Are you going to take him up on it?”

“No!” Hermione exclaimed. “I told him I wasn’t interested.”

“And yet here we are, having this conversation.”

“I don’t need that kind of complication, Ginny.”

“It’s not that complicated, Hermione,” Ginny shrugged. “You get to have sex—which you could use, to be quite frank—with a really attractive bloke who, by the look on your face, is pretty good at it” —Hermione blushed—“without any strings attached. Just sex. I think it’s a pretty good deal.”

“Gin...”

“Just think about it, okay?” Ginny said, finally turning on the television.

* * *

(March 13th, 2003 – Auror Office, Ministry of Magic)

It took Hermione all week to make up her mind.

On Monday, she tried her best to put the conversation she’d had with Ginny the night before out of her mind. She failed miserably.

On Tuesday, she had was in charge of the orientation for some new interns at the Ministry and the entire day left her too exhausted to give the matter any thought before bed.

On Wednesday, she woke up sweaty and frustrated after a steamy recount of her one night stand with Malfoy in her dreams, and spent the entire day in a foul mood.

On Thursday, she tried once again to put the matter out of her mind, and once again, she failed. She spent the entire day thinking about what had happened, mulling over his offer, but went to bed confident that she’d made the right decision.

On Friday, she woke up feeling frustrated, unable to think of anything but the night she’d spent with Malfoy. After a morning of snapping at interns and general short-temperedness, she decided enough was enough.

Hermione wasn't one for rash decisions, but even five days of reluctantly thinking things over weren't enough to justify willingly sleeping with Malfoy, were they? Maybe she just needed to listen to Ginny. Hermione wasn't the type of witch who would enter into this sort of arrangement with anyone, and even if she had, Draco Malfoy certainly wouldn't have been her first choice, but there wasn't anything inherently wrong about it, was there? She was an adult, and she was allowed to lighten up and enjoy herself. 

After telling her interns she’d be out for a bit, running some errand she made up on the spot, she left the Department and took the short walk to the Auror Office. She took advantage of the fact that the Office would be pretty empty with most people headed out for lunch, and knocked on Malfoy’s office door a bit before two, knowing full well of his habit of working through his lunch hour. She didn’t wait to be admitted, but entered and closed the door behind her.

He was sitting at his desk, and looked up only at the sound of the door closing. His eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of her, though he recovered quickly and looked her over in a way that made Hermione more conscious of the outfit she’d decided to wear that day: a cream coloured blouse of a light, almost translucent material, paired with a fitted, high-waisted black pencil skirt and sensible, shiny black pumps.

“Granger,” he greeted.

“Malfoy,” she said, keeping her tone firm and businesslike. “Do you have a minute? I’d like to discuss something with you.”

He glanced at his watch. “Sure, but make it quick—I have a meeting with Potter at two and he should be here any minute.”

“Oh,” she faltered. Harry finding her here, in Malfoy’s office, with no justification for her presence... Harry was probably one of the last people she needed to become aware of what she was doing there. “Yes, I suppose I should be quick then...”

“You can stop loitering by the door, Granger,” he smirked. “I don’t bite.”

 _Unless provoked,_ she thought, but approached him nonetheless, going around the desk until she stood next to him and finally resting her bottom against the tabletop.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said then, looking him in the eye.

His eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “Changed your mind?”

“The offer you made me, after Blaise’s birthday...” she raised her eyebrows for emphasis and hoped he got the message. “I’ve changed my mind.”

It finally dawned on him and his grey eyes flashed with surprise. After a moment, he nodded. “Alright then.”

Hermione looked a bit gobsmacked. “ _Alright then_?” she echoed. “That’s it?”

“Well, I’d suggest we get started, but I don’t think Potter would enjoy walking into my office to find you bent over the desk, don’t you agree?”

She frowned. “Yes, you’re right about that. But I think it’s important that we establish some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?”

“Yes. You are familiar with the term, right?”

“I’m not big on rules, Granger. I think they’re more like guidelines, if anything.”

She rolled her eyes. “Malfoy...”

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands. “Let’s see. You want to keep this strictly physical; you don’t want any of our friends or acquaintances, mutual or otherwise to find out...”

“No sleep-overs,” she said. “We can do this at my place or yours, but we keep it quick and simple.”

“You don’t mind Ginny or Blaise knowing?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I already told Gin we...” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely with her hands.

“Shagged?” he supplied.

“ _Had sex_ ,” she said. “She also knows you proposed this— _arrangement_ , for lack of a better term.”

“I told Blaise,” he confessed. “He’s a bit more discreet than Ginny, though. Still, I’m pretty confident they won’t tell anyone.” He glanced at the telling look on her face. “Did she talk you into accepting my proposal?”

“What? No,” Hermione shrugged. “I talked to her and it got me thinking that this could be... mutually beneficial.”

He nodded.

“Oh, and if I’m ever uncomfortable with anything and I ask you to stop and you don’t, the deal is off.”

His eyes narrowed a bit. “I wouldn’t intentionally hurt you, Granger. Nor would I continue shagging you if you were uncomfortable with anything we’re doing.”

A moment of silence passed before she spoke. “Thank you,” she said.

“No need,” he replied. “Anything else?”

“Just one more thing,” she said. “I don’t plan on sleeping with anyone else but you while we have this arrangement going on, and I’d appreciate the same courtesy on your end.”

“Consider me monogamous.”

She frowned. “I’d figured you’d put up a bigger fight on that one.”

Shrugging: “There really aren’t that many women interested in me... And even fewer are as good in the sack as you were.”

She blushed. “Alright, I think that settles things.”

She made to get up from the desk, but he placed a hand on her thigh to hold her in place. “Hang on a minute, Granger. I have something to ask of you as well... It’s only fair that I gain something out of this.”

“More than gratuitous sex void of any commitment? Why am I not surprised?”

“It’s the Slytherin in me, old habits die hard,” he said. “But don’t change the subject.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Alright, name your conditions.”

“Just the one,” a smirk filled with mischief graced his features as he spoke. “I get to pick out lingerie for you to wear every once in a while.”

She blushed even deeper, but eventually nodded. “Seems fair.”

He held out his hand for her to shake. “Glad we’ve reached an agreement.”

She smiled a bit at that, shaking his hand. “Likewi—”

A sharp knock on the door interrupted their exchange.

“Fuck,” Draco whispered.

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Is that—”

“Oi, Malfoy, you in there?” called out Harry’s voice from outside the door.

“Just a minute, I’ll be right there!” Draco called back. “Shit, Granger, you _can’t be here._ Potter’ll have a fit.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she hissed back. She eyed the fireplace. “I can just floo out of here, my flat is connected to the Ministry floo network.”

“You can’t bloody floo out of here,” Malfoy whispered. “He’ll hear the fireplace, he’ll think I was meeting someone and didn’t want him to know about it, and how does that look, coming from a former Death Eater?”

“Not good,” Hermione admitted.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Draco made to get up from his desk. Suddenly it occurred to him. “Quick, get under the desk.”

“Under the d—are you mad?”

“There’s plenty of room and he won’t see you, just do it!”

Hermione saw that arguing in their circumstances was pointless, and reluctantly did as she was told, casting a Disillusionment Charm for good measure, as she was pretty sure Harry would be able to make out her shoes in the gap between the floor and the front of Malfoy’s desk. She heard as Malfoy opened the door, he and Harry exchanged a greeting and Malfoy offered an apology for his delay in opening the door. The two men then walked towards the desk, and she soon found herself lodged between Malfoy’s legs under the desk. Scowling, she attempted to settle herself comfortably on the floor, finally tucking her legs under herself and listening to the conversation the two men were having to pass the time.

“Alright, Malfoy, I’ll just be a minute, this is pretty straightforward,” Harry was saying. “We’ve found a house in Hungary that belongs to Rabastan Lestrange.”

“Lestrange?” Draco repeated. “I thought the old loon had gotten the Dementor’s Kiss and was rotting away in Azkaban.”

And that’s when Hermione had a rather wicked idea.

“And he is,” Harry went on, and Hermione heard some papers being shuffled. “But we’ve just found a property in his name a few hours outside Budapest.”

Slowly, she ran a hand up Draco’s thigh, stopping just short of his crotch before coming back down.

Draco cleared his throat. “How are we only hearing about this now?”

“It seems the land that the estate is built on is of interest to the Hungarian Ministry, and when they tried to contact the owner to negotiate a buy-out, they found it belongs to Lestrange and contacted us.”

Hermione’s hand travelled farther up this time, and she boldly stroked him through his trousers, grinning at the growing bulge and at the strain evident in Draco’s voice as he spoke.

“But—since Lestrange’s in prison we could just— _seize_ the property and sign it over to them, no?”

“That’s the plan,” said Harry, and Hermione could make out Draco’s entire length straining against the inside of his trousers. “But we’ll need to dismantle the wards and then conduct a full sweep of the place to make sure it’s safe to—Malfoy, are you feeling alright?”

He wasn’t.

Hermione had unzipped his trousers, taken him out of his boxers and was currently stroking him under the desk with a surprisingly strong grip. He felt long and hard in her hand, and she relished feeling in control as he attempted to give Harry an answer without giving anything away.

“I’ve got—er, a bit of a stomach ache. So, I’m guessing you want me to come with to take down the wards and—search the place?”

“Yeah. It shouldn’t take long, we’re just waiting on the Hungarian Ministry to approve a date for us to come over and take care of it.”

“Alright,” Draco managed to get out, and it took every ounce of his self control to keep his face straight. “Look, I’m really—not feeling well. How about you get back to me with the date once you get word, yeah?”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Yes, Potter.”

“Brilliant then,” Hermione heard Harry get up from his chair on the other side of the desk, and a few moments passed as the wizards shook hands before she heard the door close with Harry’s departure. Without loosening her grasp on Draco’s length, she undid the Disillusionment Charm just was he pulled away from the desk enough to see her. Crawling out, she gave him only a second to recover before resuming her task.

“Really, Granger?” he choked out.

She smirked, her hand gripping up and down his hard length. “It was cramped under there, and I was starting to get a little bored.”

“Potter would’ve had kittens if he knew what you were doing under my desk.”

“Harry would have kittens if he knew the deal we just made,” Hermione said. She was aware, of course, that this was most unlike her, but she had to admit that it was the most fun she’d had in a while, all the same.

“True. Now, it’s not like I’m not thoroughly enjoying what you’re doing, but I’ve got work, Granger, you can’t just—”

“You’re not honestly turning this down, Malfoy.”

Hermione picked up her wand once again and wordlessly locked the door to his office, throwing up a Silencing Charm for good measure. She decided just then that she liked having Malfoy at her mercy.

“Granger, I’m not fucking around, we can’t—”

And his protests died out as he felt the silky warmth of her mouth wrap around his shaft, replaced with one long, drawn out groan. She wasted no time in teasing him, her head bobbing up and down as she sucked hard on his length. She could feel the salty tang of precum on her tongue, the folds of his foreskin brushing against the roof of her mouth. Pulling him out of her mouth almost completely, she drew circles around the tip of his erection with her tongue and then sucked with almost bruising force. Draco was rendered completely incoherent, panting and shuddering his release within minutes, his hands covering his red face. He groaned when he felt his seed spill into Hermione’s mouth and her throat contracting around him as she swallowed.

Hermione grinned to herself. It was rather arousing, to see Malfoy lose control of his composed demeanour, being the reason he lost control in the first place. She carefully returned him to the confines of his boxers, noting in the process that his erection had not entirely deflated. She then stood up, smoothed out her skirt and perched herself on the desk, waiting for him to recover.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Granger,” he found his voice after a few minutes, looking at her as though he’d never seen anything like her.

“Maybe,” she said with a smile. “But what a way to go.”


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conditions:   
> 1) Main pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger  
> 2) Ron and Hermione are on good terms with each other; they never got married.  
> 3) Ginny is dating Blaise Zabini. Ginny and Hermione are close friends.  
> 4) The following line must be used: “I don’t think I’d be into that.” The person who says it must turn out to be very ‘into that’.   
> 5) Harry is an Auror, Draco works at the Ministry as an expert/consultant on Dark Magic. They get along well.  
> 6) A Grindylow, Newt Scamander, a tiger and a hippo must appear at some point in the story.  
> 7) There should be black velvet somewhere. There should also be red velvet.  
> 8) Fred is alive and he and George must play a prank on Hermione or challenge her to a dare, which ends up being good for her in the long run.  
> 9) Time frame: around five years after the War.  
> Songs mentioned:   
> My Body – Young The Giant  
> Caprice 24 – David Garrett  
> Candles – Daughter  
> Stitches (Acoustic Version) – Shawn Mendes & Hailee Steinfeld

“ _You were red, and you liked me because I was blue. You touched me, and suddenly I was a lilac sky, and you decided purple just wasn’t for you.”_ — Halsey, _Colors._

* * *

 

(April 25th, 2003 – Il Fuoco del Drago – Diagon Alley, London)

It started about two years prior, about a year after she and Ron broke up.

Their breakup had been painful and well-publicized; the entire wizarding world wanted to know what had gone wrong with the so-called _golden couple_. For the first two months, everywhere she went, Hermione was hounded by reporters demanding to know why she wasn’t popping out little ginger additions to the Weasley family tree. Eventually time passed and the press moved on to other interests—like Harry and Ginny and their even more publicised break up.

Breaking things off with Ron had been hard on Hermione. They weren’t properly suited for each other, she thought, and it had never become more evident than when, on their two year anniversary, he’d asked her to marry him. Ron had just gotten an offer for a five-year contract to play Quidditch abroad, in France, and he’d asked her to come with him. He asked her to put everything on hold—including her promising career at the Ministry—to marry him and be his dutiful wife while he toured as the new star Keeper for the Quiberon Quafflepunchers.

Hermione had said no, of course.

They had been rocky for ages, fighting and bickering over every little thing, their sex life practically non-existent. Ron’s proposal had pretty much been the kiss of death for their relationship. She had loved him dearly, but the fact was that at nineteen, she wasn’t ready for marriage, and she certainly wasn’t willing to put her aspirations and her career on hold for someone who wanted nothing more from her than a devoted wife to bear his children and cheer him on from the sidelines. She told him all this, as well as her intentions to remain in England, and said it was probably best for them if they remained friends.

Ron hadn’t taken it well, to say the least. He’d packed up and left for France anyway, and Hermione had finally sold the flat they shared in favour of rooming with Ginny, who was looking to move out of the Burrow at the time. Harry had been completely neutral following the breakup of his two best friends, but Hermione couldn’t take his side when he and Ginny went south after the ginger had caught the Boy Who Lived balls-deep in Cho Chang’s Chamber of Secrets. Ginny had completely lost control at the sight, hexing Harry and Cho so severely that they each spent a couple nights in St. Mungo’s while the Healers sorted them out.

Three years of on and off dating between him and Cho later, Harry and Ginny still hadn’t sorted out their differences, but this was not the case for Ron and Hermione. Nearly a year after his unceremonious exit from her life and from England, it was Ron who extended the proverbial olive branch in the form of an invitation to have lunch at an Italian restaurant in Diagon Alley. While it had certainly been awkward and rocky at first, eventually they managed to fall back into the friendship they’d had when they were younger. Through some sort of unspoken agreement, they started meeting up for lunch at least once whenever Ron was in the country.

Over two years after that first meeting, Hermione sat at their usual table at Il Fuoco Del Drago, idly reading _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_ as she waited for him to arrive. The smells of sauces, pastas and oregano drifting through the small, warm, Italian restaurant were more distracting than Newt Scamander’s musings on Erumpents could ever be, she thought, her stomach rumbling. Thanks to its location at the far end of the Alley, the place was devoid of the usual throng that crowded London restaurants at lunchtime; it was this—and the rather fabulous menu, served in portions that could comfortably fill even Ron’s stomach—that had made it the prime candidate for a place to hold their seasonal meetings without attracting attention.

She watched as the door opened with a ring at a few minutes after, admitting the muscular form of Ronald Weasley. Playing Quidditch professionally had filled him out quite a bit; he sported a larger, broader frame altogether, and he’d grown into his large hands and feet, which had looked out of place on the lankier build he’d had when they were younger. He’d gotten a proper haircut too, and this—along with the change in attire for something fancier, more proper for a famous Quidditch player—was a rather surprising change, but Hermione thought his freckles were still the same, his eyes were the same shade of blue and he was still as clumsy and hot-headed as ever.

He spotted her almost immediately—it was hard not to, as she sat at the same table they met at every time—and made his way over. Hermione stood up to greet him with a hug before they both took their seats.

“How’ve you been?” she asked, setting a napkin on her lap and taking the menu from the server that had just made her way over.

“I’ve been alright,” said Ron, shrugging. “Training’s going well... I’ve—er—I got an offer to come back to England and play for Puddlemere once my contract in France expires.”

“Ron, that’s amazing!”

His ears turned fairly pink; this was another thing that had never changed. “Yeah, I guess. Pay’s not bad either, and I’d be a lot closer to home... Mum’s been complaining I don’t come back often enough.”

“Yes, well, you can’t really blame her... A few weeks out of the year are hardly enough, aren’t they?”

“Not even close,” Ron frowned, and the conversation was paused while the waiter took their orders for drinks and brought back butterbeers for the both of them.

It was Ron who spoke first. “Hey, did Ginny tell you the news?”

Hermione looked up from her menu, brow furrowed in confusion. “What news?”

“Bill and Fleur are pregnant again.”

“No way! Merlin, that’s wonderful! I have to owl them when I get back to the office.”

“They only found out a couple days ago, but you can imagine how excited Mum and Dad are about having another grandchild.”

“Over the moon, I’m betting.” Perusing the menu: “Say, how do you feel about bruschetta?”

Ron looked thoughtful for a moment, eyeing the dish in question in the _antipasto_ section of the menu. “Generally positive, why?”

“I just noticed it’s the only appetizer we haven’t tried here.”

“Well, it does sound pretty good... I’m thinking of the mushroom risotto or the spinach-tomato tortellini.”

“Oh, the risotto is just grand, I had it last time, remember?”

“Not really,” Ron frowned.

“Merlin, Ronald, you only had about half my plate.”

“Oh, is that what it was?”

A few minutes later, the food had been ordered—Ron had decided on the risotto, while Hermione had ordered some traditional meat lasagna—and the conversation had drifted to Hermione’s job at the Ministry while they munched their way through the platter of toasted, parmesan-topped bruschetta.

“By the time the hit-wizards had managed to round up all the pigs, they’d completely trashed the muggle neighbours’ garden—took about six Memory Charms to clear everything up,” Hermione finished her story.

“Who in the bloody hell keeps twenty-three pot-bellied pigs in their yard?” Ron asked, trying and failing to conceal his laughter.

“Twenty-three pot-bellied pigs that had miraculously sprouted wings, no less,” Hermione said. “It was an absolute mess, we had to call in the Improper Use of Magic Office as well... And the perpetrator, it just so happens, was a wizard called Barnaby Shunpike.”

“Shunpike?” Ron echoed.

“Stan’s cousin, as it appears,” Hermione smirked.

“That entire family’s barmy,” Ron chuckled. “How’ve you been?” he asked after a moment’s silence. “Aside from work.”

“I’ve been good,” Hermione answered, allowing herself a small smile.

“So, who’s the bloke?” Ron asked.

Hermione blanched, but was thankfully saved from answering by the arrival of their food. She preoccupied herself with her lasagna, thankful when Ron was momentarily distracted by the steaming mushroom risotto. Regrettably, it only took him a minute to get his mind back on track.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he reminded her.

Hermione swallowed the rather large bite of food she’d taken. “Er—There’s not really an answer to give,” she shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Bollocks,” Ron scoffed. “Look at you, you’re practically glowing. That means you’ve gotten laid recently.”

Hermione blushed, all prior delusions of nonchalance gone. Truthfully, she’d _gotten laid_ at her flat two nights ago and at Malfoy’s the night before, and on her desk that morning... She tried very hard not to blush at the thought. “I—”

“Come off it, we can talk about this. We’re friends, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“So?”

“I’m not seeing anyone, Ron.”

“Seeing isn’t the same as shagging, ‘Mione.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s none of your business.”

“ _Aha!_ ” he pointed at her with his fork, sending bits of rice and mushroom flying. Hermione laughed. “So there _is_ a bloke you’re shagging!”

“No comment,” was all she said, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth as she busied herself with her lunch.

“I’ll get it out of you eventually,” Ron said, shrugging. “And if not, Harry can.”

Hermione thought of how Harry and Ron—particularly the latter—would react to finding out about Malfoy, and suddenly felt a bout of queasiness that had little to do with lunch.

* * *

 

( _My Body_ – May 2 nd, 2003 – Ministry of Magic, London)

Hermione wasn’t quite sure how they’d gotten here, but her mind was too preoccupied with other matters to really wonder.

If pressed, she might have remembered that she actually came to the Ministry that evening to attend the party that was being thrown in honour of the fifth anniversary of the end of the War. She’d arrived early, accompanied by Ron and Harry, and mingled in the crowd for a couple hours until a certain blond wizard found her. Somehow, they ended up hidden in a rather dark alcove a little ways away from the Atrium, the darkness of the area and the noise of the party serving as an adequate cover for them both.

Draco had pressed her up against the wall the moment he was certain that they wouldn’t be seen by anyone leaving the party. His hot, needy kiss and strong hold had her dripping with arousal within minutes, and before she knew it he’d taken both her wrists in one of his hands and pinned them to the wall above her head, hiking up the folds of her dress and ripping her knickers—a brand new red lace thing that he had bought and had made Hermione blush to about nine different shades of pink—from her frame with his other hand. Hermione felt the almost bruising grip on her wrists and blushed at the surprise of finding she was actually _more_ turned on by him pinning her down.

_Damn it all, Ginny was right._

She was distracted from pondering the matter any further by the feeling of Draco’s fingers tending to her nether regions. Within minutes, she was reduced to a blubbering, shuddering mess, still pinned against the cool black wall behind her. She was barely aware of wrapping her legs around Draco’s waist when he grabbed her bottom and picked her up, the tip of his erection easing its way between her folds. He paused only a second before pushing his entire length into her, capturing her lips in a searing kiss to stop her moans from giving them away. Over and over he pushed in and out of her, both of them smothering their hushed cries of pleasure against the others lips until an unexpected set of voices coming from very near them made them stop.

“Where do you think she’s got to?” came Ron’s voice first, and Draco paled.

“I don’t know, she excused herself to go to the loo and didn’t come back,” Harry’s answer made Hermione’s eyes widen.

“Maybe she went home or something.”

“Without saying goodbye or anything? That’s entirely unlike Hermione.”

Hermione and Draco froze as they stood; her legs still around his waist, his hands still on her waist and her left breast, and his erection still buried deep inside her. The shadowy alcove was thankfully enough to hide them from view, but neither of them dared move, holding their breath until the pair of wizards passed their alcove and the sound of their footsteps faded in the corridor.

The interruption had completely ruined the moment and a second later, Draco removed himself from inside her. Hermione took her cue to unwrap her legs from around his waist, and felt herself lowered to the ground a moment later. In the dim light she could see that his face had hardened, but when she raised her eyebrows questioningly, he only shook his head.

“Later,” he said, and the look in his eyes was such that she didn’t press the matter.

They left the hallway separately and quickly after Hermione mended and replaced her knickers. Draco muttered as she left that she come by his flat later, and Hermione gave only the slightest nod in understanding before leaving for the ladies bathroom.

Her appearance was rather less rumpled than she’d figured it would be, though the bathroom was mercifully empty. Her navy dress hadn’t wrinkled at all, her makeup only needed to be freshened up and her hair had barely moved from the style she’d set it in, hanging down her back in loose curls.  After only a minute in front of the mirror, she’d gone into one of the stalls to properly clean up, washed her hands, and then left the empty bathroom.

Hermione noticed as soon as she returned to the party that Draco hadn’t, and assumed that he’d simply gone home. She found Ron and Harry only another minute later, insisting against their protests that she _had_ in fact been near the dancefloor the entire time and that they simply must not have looked properly. After an hour of small talk, reluctant dancing with the boys and another glass of wine, she made her excuses and left the party, avoiding a Daily Prophet reporter that wanted an interview with her on her way out.

She floo-ed out of the Ministry and arrived in Draco’s flat a few minutes past eleven. Draco was waiting for her, sitting on the couch. The silver tie he’d worn to the party lay discarded beside him, but his appearance was otherwise the same as it had been earlier. His face was set in a scowl, his eyebrows furrowed together as he stared at a spot on the carpet before her with such intensity that Hermione was surprised it hadn’t caught fire.

“You wanted to see me?” she said finally.

He looked up. “Talk to you, actually.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Talk?”

“Yes, talk. It’s something people do sometimes, Granger. I’m surprised you’re not familiar with it, seeing as you literally never shut up.”

She scowled. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“I’m just a bit shocked at how relaxed you are considering your friends almost caught us fucking in the Ministry Atrium.”

Hermione’s expression hardened, but she said nothing.

“Cat got your tongue, Granger?” Malfoy stood up.

“Nothing happened, Draco, they didn’t see or hear us and they believed me when I said I’d been in the Atrium the entire time.”

“Shite, Granger, they came this close to finding us! You really couldn’t have excused yourself, couldn’t have said you were going home so your daft pets wouldn’t come looking?”

“Don’t call them that!” she scowled at him.

“I’m sorry; would Demented Duo do them more justice? Honestly, how do you think they’ll react when they find out you and I are having sex on a regular basis?”

“This isn’t any of their business! Who I decide to sleep with is none of their concern!”

“Please,” he scoffed. “Those two make every bit of your life their concern, and even you have to admit that they won’t be happy when they find out—when, Granger, not if, _when_. We could be caught together any moment and tonight made it clearer than ever. How do you think Wonderboy and the Weasel will react to finding their best friend fucking their childhood nemesis and former Death Eater?”

Hermione was angered by his words, though she didn’t immediately know why. After a moment, she sat beside him on the couch. “I don’t believe that. As much as you fancy yourself the source of all that is evil, you’re not.”

“Granger...”

“I’m not hearing it, Draco,” she said, and grey eyes met brown. “Not a word of it. I know you’re a changed man, I do. And I know you’d like people to see that change. But how do you expect them to when you’re constantly putting yourself down with titles that have nothing to do with the person you are now?”

He didn’t answer, but continued to stare at her.

“As for Harry and Ron,” she went on after a few moments, now looking at the roaring flames in the fireplace in front of them, “I’m a big girl. I can make my own choices. If they find out, I can handle it; my sex life is none of their business.”

He nodded. They sat in silence for a few moments, until finally he spoke.

“Blaise and Ginny are leaving for Italy straight after the party... We have the flat to ourselves.”

“Technically, we also have _my_ flat to ourselves.”

“Well, yes,” he granted. “But we’re already here.”

She nodded, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth.

“Would you like to pick up where we left off?”

She nodded again, grinning.

* * *

(June 8th, 2003 – Hermione and Ginny’s Flat – Camden, London)

 _A Streetcar Named Desire_ played on, but neither witch was paying any attention to the film, instead conversing over a shared container full of fried wontons doused in sweet and sour sauce, filling each other in on the events that had transpired since Blaise and Ginny had left on a trip to Italy over a month prior.

“I cannot believe you had _sex_ in the Atrium of the Ministry!”

“Well, we weren’t actually planning on staying there,” Hermione defended. “I don’t know, we just got a bit carried away...”

“I’ll say,” Ginny chuckled. “And how was it?”

Hermione leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes for a moment. “Amazing—I mean, at one point he even grabbed both my wrists and pinned them down above my head and it was just... Wow.”

Ginny gasped. “Hermione Jean Granger, you saucy minx!”

“It was going pretty fantastically until your brother and Harry came looking for me.”

Ginny choked on a wonton, and Hermione clapped her on the back until she recovered. “They _what_?!”

“They came looking for me, because apparently I’d been gone too long. They didn’t see anything though. We heard them coming and thankfully it was dark enough in the hallway and loud enough from the party that they didn’t notice we were there.”

“Nosy gits,” Ginny scowled. “You still haven’t told them, have you?”

“Nope.”

“’Atta girl. So, how was Draco’s birthday?”

“Oh, it was fine. I got him a rather lovely tie... He went to lunch with his mother and asked me to come.”

Ginny’s eyebrows rose. “He did?”

Hermione shrugged. “Yeah... We’ve been close lately.”

“Close?”

“Don’t give me that look. You and Blaise were gone for a month, it’s mostly boredom and two lonely flats that caused us to start spending time together outside of just, you know—”

“Right,” Ginny swallowed, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So you’re proper friends now?”

“I guess you could say that, yeah. We don’t bicker as much anymore, and the conversations are really great. I’ve even gotten him into muggle movies, if you can imagine.”

“No way.”

“I have, honestly. He’s a sucker for Audrey Hepburn.”

“I can’t believe it, holy _Merlin_.”

“I know,” Hermione laughed. “But yeah, we went out to lunch on his birthday, but that’s all. He wouldn’t even let me buy him a cake—”

“Hm, I know someone like that, but I can’t really recall _who_ it may be.”

“Ha-ha,” Hermione deadpanned. “Not all of us go all-out for birthdays.”

“Fair enough,” Ginny shrugged. “And you met Narcissa?”

Hermione nodded, taking a wonton from the container.

“And how was she?”

“Oh, she was lovely,” answered the brunette. “Quite different from what I expected; she was so warm to me.”

“Really?” Ginny looked taken aback, playing with her chopsticks before digging into the container between them. “I imagine having a husband rotting away in Azkaban due to silly prejudice did some changes to her old way of thinking.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “I was honestly expecting the cold woman I met years ago that looked down the bridge of her nose at me, but she’s quite different. She was very gracious with me, and kept raving about how glad she is that Draco and I are friends now.”

Ginny looked impressed. “And Draco?”

“He was a bit nervous. I’m guessing he thought I’d be a bit uneasy in his mother’s presence, but the entire lunch went on without a hitch.”

Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about asking Harry to lunch.”

“Really?” Hermione nearly choked on her wonton.

Ginny shrugged. “I figure it’s about time for us to at least attempt to be friends. I mean, if you and Draco Malfoy, of all people, can get along and be friends, Harry and I can, right?”

“That’s a very mature way of viewing things, Gin.”

“Thank you,” the ginger grinned before popping a wonton in her mouth.

* * *

 

( _Caprice 24 -_ August 11th, 2003 – Hermione and Ginny’s flat – Camden, London)

“’Mione?” Ginny poked her head through the witch’s bedroom door. “Aren’t you ready yet? Everyone’s asking for you.”

“I’m almost done,” Hermione hopped around on one foot, wrestling the other into her shoe. “There.”

“Brilliant,” Ginny said, now opening the door. Hermione, meanwhile, was digging around in her closet for something. “What are you—”

Hermione walked over to the witch and presented her with a box wrapped in shiny purple paper. “What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t get you an amazing birthday present?”

“You really didn’t have to,” Ginny admonished, but Hermione shrugged her off. The ginger unwrapped the box, revealing a stunning pair of black satin heels. “Oh my Merlin!”

Hermione grinned. “Happy birthday, Gin.”

“You really are the best friend ever,” Ginny hugged her, before promptly shoving her out the door. “Now go and greet everyone, I’ll be out in a moment; I have to change my shoes now!”

Rolling her eyes at her friend, Hermione walked down the hall and into the sitting room, where their dining table had been magically expanded to allow for all the dinner guests. She greeted Arthur, Percy and Audrey, Ron, Fred, Angelina and George before heading off into the kitchen to find Molly and Blaise putting the finishing touches on dinner.

“Blaise Zabini, are you actually _cooking_?”

The dark wizard turned from the salad he was preparing, and Hermione saw that he had even donned an apron to match Molly’s. “Don’t you dare take the mickey out of me for this, Granger. I happen to know there’s a bottle of wine around here that’ll fit rather nicely in my collection.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Hermione laughed.

“I’ll have you know he’s an excellent cook, Hermione,” said Molly.

“She’s just jealous of my skills,” Blaise told the elder witch. “Her strengths mostly go along the lines of drinking wine and reading incredibly large, boring books.

“Now now, children.” Molly, wearing oven mitts and a bright grin, was taking a roast out of the oven. “No bickering, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Yes, Molly,” they chorused.

“So, where are Bill and Fleur?”

“Fleur’s been having some dreadful back pains,” Molly explained. “She’s been feeling out of sorts with this pregnancy and they decided to stay home so she could rest.”

Any further conversation was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. “Hermione,” Molly said, moving the roast off of the oven sheet and onto a platter with her wand. “Could you be a dear and get that?”

“Of course.”

Absently smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in her skirt, she walked to the door and opening, finding the dark-haired form of Harry Potter on the other side.

“Harry!” she hugged him, noticing that he carried a small gold box in his hand. A present for Ginny. “I had no idea you were coming.”

“Ginny invited me,” the wizard explained as he entered the flat, “and when she mentioned Molly was cooking, I couldn’t stay away.”

“Oh, she and Blaise are just putting the finishing touches on dinner now.”

Harry’s mouth twitched at the mention of Blaise, but he made no further comment until they joined the others now waiting around the table. Audrey, Angelina and Ginny were off to one side, admiring the latter’s new shoes. Harry greeted everyone, giving Ginny a hug and a light kiss on the cheek, just as Blaise walked into the dining room, carrying the large platter containing the roast with one hand, and levitating a few more ahead of him with the other.

“Potter,” he nodded.

“Zabini,” said Harry.

“I’d shake your hand but I’m afraid mine are a bit full at the moment.”

Harry smiled politely. “No worries, mate.”

With another brisk nod, Blaise proceeded to set all the platters at the table. Molly, now apron-less, walked into the room a moment later, carrying a stack full of dishes.

“I think that’s everything,” she said, setting them down on one end of the table.

The others had just begun to comment on the rather spectacular state of the meal when the doorbell rang again.

“Oh, that must be Draco,” Ginny said.

Hermione felt a discomfort in the pit of her stomach that had little to do with hunger.

“Malfoy?” Ron asked. “What’s he doing here?”

“I invited him,” Ginny said in a tone that allowed for little opposition. “He’s friendly with everyone at this table, and I’ll thank you to not be your usual prick self to him.”

“I make no promises.”

“You’ll do as your sister says and behave,” Molly warned him. “Merlin’s wand, Ronald, even Harry and Hermione have sorted out their issues with him, surely you can find it in you to act like the mature adult you claim to be?”

It was then that Hermione decided to look at the books that occupied the bookcase on the wall opposite her instead of risking meeting the eye of any the people around her.

A moment later, they heard Ginny greeting the wizard and him congratulating her, followed by a screech that could only signify one thing. Ginny walked back in the room a moment later, followed by the blond wizard and immediately showing everyone the bracelet Draco had gotten her, a thin silver bangle embedded with diamonds.

“Blimey, Malfoy, quit making me look bad,” Blaise chuckled.

“Evening, everyone,” Draco greeted, hands in his pockets. “And I can hardly compete with a month’s stay in an Italian villa, Zabini, but I do try.” He winked. Hermione still hadn’t looked away from the books, but Draco looked straight at Ron when he walked up behind Hermione, settling an arm around her waist and kissing her on the cheek.

“Evening, Granger.”

Had she bothered to look up, she would’ve seen Harry’s brow furrow in confusion; Ron, scarlet-eared, glaring openly at Draco; and Draco smirking at Ron. But as it was, Hermione looked everywhere but at Ron and Harry, feeling herself blush up to the roots of her hair.

“Hello,” she said lamely.

“Well, now that we’re all here, I think we should tuck in, no?” Molly said. They all took their seats, with Hermione ending up between Ginny and Draco, across the table from Ron and Harry. She’d barely begun serving herself when a glass of wine was set down in front of her. Looking behind her, she saw Blaise, who gave her a look that plainly said _I have a feeling you’re gonna need it._ Giving him a weak smile in thanks, she continued filling her plate, vaguely aware of the conversation going on around her.

To give them credit, they made it entirely through dinner before the bickering started.

It had begun with something silly, with the twins making plans with Draco and Blaise to go golfing the following week. As the twins left, accompanied by most of the rest of their family, Hermione could see the flash in Ron’s eyes and had the good sense to give herself a refill from the bottle Blaise had left on the table. Ginny excused herself to the loo a few moments later, leaving Hermione alone with the men. It was just Blaise, Harry, Ron, Draco and herself, now sitting around the living room. Somehow, she once again wound up sitting beside Draco, across from Ron.

“I just don’t understand,” Ron was saying a few seconds later, capitalizing on the momentary absence of his sister. “I just cannot grasp how it is that you managed to get my entire family and my friends to become your biggest fans, Malfoy.”

Draco’s reply came evenly and calmly. “It’s called ‘growing up’, Weaselbee. You may want to try it sometime.”

Ron’s ears turned a brilliant shade of red, and Hermione saw this as the proper moment to intervene. “Now, really, I don’t think this is the time to—”

“I can understand how Blaise did it,” Ron cut her off, still speaking to Draco. “He’s not a bad bloke, and he’s a rather great cook”—Blaise’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile—“and he takes care of Ginny. Not to mention that he wasn’t nearly as much of a dick at Hogwarts as you were. But I don’t get where the hell you get off buying my sister diamonds like she’s one of your girlfriends.”

“That’s enough, Ron,” said Harry, just as Ginny walked back in the room.

“Oh, so now you’re taking his side as well?” Ron nearly shouted.

“What’s going on here?” Ginny asked. She looked at Blaise enquiringly, but he only shrugged.

“I don’t think you’ve changed at all, Malfoy,” Ron went on angrily. “I think you’re still the same bastard you’ve always been.”

“Ron, you’re completely out of line,” Harry spoke again, this time more firmly.

He paid no attention. “And that stunt you pulled, kissing Hermione like that in front of everyone, making her look like a—”

Hermione’s jaw was clenched. “Ron, if you don’t shut your mouth I swear to Merlin...”

“What?” Ron snapped at her. “You’ll what?”

“Oi,” Malfoy spoke up. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“I’ll talk to her however the ruddy hell I want, _Draco_.”

“Ron!” Ginny nearly shouted.

Malfoy made to get up from his place on the couch, already reaching inside his pocket for his wand, but Hermione laid her hand on his knee to stop him.

“Don’t,” she whispered to him.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by Ron and Harry, but instead of hiding, she looked them in the eyes this time. Harry looked deep in thought, as though he were putting things together in his head. Ron just looked angry.

“So, this is the bloke you’ve been shagging?”

Hermione blinked once. “Yes.”

“So you two are a thing now?”

“No,” the both of them answered in unison, a smirk on Draco’s face.

A moment of tense silence, and then Ron burst out laughing. A dark, humourless cackle that left the others stunned into silence. “You’re something else, Hermione, really. You couldn’t find anyone else in London worth fucking other than our childhood nemesis?”

“Who Hermione decides to sleep with is frankly none of your business,” Ginny said coolly.

“You knew about this?” Ron looked at his sister incredulously.

“Yeah, we knew,” Blaise said.

“We’re their best friends, Ron, of bloody course we knew,” Ginny snapped.

“One would think that _I_ was also one of your best friends,” Ron said, looking at Hermione.

“You’re also my ex-boyfriend, Ronald,” she said. “Forgive me if I don’t feel entirely comfortable with you knowing the details of my sex life.”

“Did you even stop to think for a second how Harry and I would feel about you shagging the bloke we hate most?”

“Speak for yourself, Ron.”

The other five, even Draco, turned to look at Harry with identical expressions of surprise on their faces.

“What? I don’t hate you,” he said, looking at Draco as he spoke. “I’ve enjoyed working with you, and while we’re not exactly the best of friends, I trust your judgement and I know you’ve grown up and changed. You’re a decent bloke, Draco, and your contribution at the Ministry is highly valued. Hermione’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions and she’s certainly never been known to make bad ones.”

Hermione gave Harry a grateful look, but Ron’s surprise turned to—further—anger and disbelief. “You’re actually okay with this?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Harry looked at the ginger over his glasses. “It doesn’t really _matter_ whether we’re okay with it or not, because it’s none of our business. Neither of us are exactly saints; I’m certainly in no place to claim to be on a higher moral ground.” He glanced momentarily at Ginny.

“But now that you mention it, yes. I am okay with it. Hell,” he addressed Hermione and Draco. “I’ve even thought once or twice that you’d make an alright couple, and I’d have told you so if I didn’t think the both of you would hack my head off for suggesting it.”

“We’re not a couple, Potter,” Draco assured him. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Not even close,” Hermione added.

“We’re more like each other’s... I don’t know...” Draco trailed off.

“Release?” Hermione supplied. Draco nodded.

Harry shrugged. “If it works for you, who am I to judge?”

Ron, who had been stunned into silence by Harry’s words, found his voice. “I can’t believe any of you. This is fucked up.” He stood up, speaking directly at Hermione. “I never would’ve believed this of you. You’re better than this. And he—he’s going to fuck this up. He’s going to get you pregnant or worse.”

Hermione stood up as well. “For the last time, Ron; I can take care of myself. It’s none of your business, butt out of it.”

“This is just to spite me, isn’t it? Merlin, I can’t believe you!”

“I can’t believe you!” Hermione shouted. “It’s incredible how everything always has to be about you. When will you get it into your thick head that not everyone’s lives revolve around you?”

“When will you stop being so selfish? Merlin, I gave you everything!”

“You did no such thing!”

“I loved you, hell; I wanted nothing more than to marry you! You’re the one who decided you wanted nothing to do with me!”

“And what about what I wanted? Was that included in any of your brilliant plans?”

“Listen to you; you’re still so bloody selfish! You never think of anyone but yourself!”

“For fuck’s sake, I was nineteen! I wasn’t ready to get married! You just wanted someone ready to drop everything and move to France, to leave behind their entire life to have your babies and cheer you on while you played ruddy Quidditch! And I’m sorry, but ‘dutiful housewife’ is _not_ what I planned on taking on as a career.”

“So you’d rather slag around and be Malfoy’s whore than—”

_Smack._

The sound of Hermione’s fist colliding with Ron’s nose sounded deafening in the silence that rang out after the minutes they’d screamed at each other. A second later, a red-faced Ron was sprawled on the carpet clutching his bloodied nose. The other four had rapidly risen to their feet, but no one moved except Draco, who was at Hermione’s side immediately.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Hermione nodded, still shaking with anger.

* * *

 

( _Candles –_ August 11th, 2003 – Draco and Blaise’s penthouse – Brixton, London)

A couple minutes later, they Apparated to a small alleyway a few buildings down from the one where Draco and Blaise lived. The noise made by their sudden appearance was hidden by the busy street, and they were able to slip into the building without attracting any attention. One short trip in the tiny elevator later, Draco was taking down the wards to enter the flat.

Hermione took a seat on the familiar couch as soon as she walked in, now calmer but her heart still racing with adrenaline. Draco disappeared, returning moments later with two tumblers. A flick of his wand lit the fireplace, and he handed her one of the glasses. She looked at it questioningly.

“I figured you needed something stronger than Earl Grey.”

“I don’t drink scotch,” was her reply. She took the glass anyway.

Draco smirked, sitting down on the couch beside her. “You’re seriously going to turn down a sip of that wonderful bottle you got me?”

She tried it then after barely a second of hesitation, humming in appreciation at the taste as the liquor burned a trail down her throat. “That’s quite nice.”

“I thought you didn’t drink scotch.”

“I thought you were saving this bottle for a special occasion.”

“It seemed fitting.”

The two sipped their drinks in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “Would it be insensitive of me to congratulate you for socking Weasley like that?”

“Wildly insensitive,” she smirked.

“Congratulations, then.”

Hermione snorted. “Well, that explains the scotch.”

“I told you I was saving it for a special occasion... I just never thought I’d live to see _you_ of all people engaging in violence.”

“You’re forgetting that time I hit you in third year.”

“Trust me,” he grimaced. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Hermione almost giggled, but it faded away after a few seconds, and the look on her face turned grim. “Ron reacted exactly how I expected him to, which is why I hadn’t told him about this.”

“He actually asked?”

“Once, a few months back when we went out to lunch.”

“You went out to lunch?” Draco looked confused.

“I hadn’t told you about that?”

He shook his head. Hermione took another sip of her drink. “About a year after we broke up, he wrote me, said he was going to be in England a few days and wanted to meet up for lunch. That’s pretty much how we became friends again. And well, now it’s sort of tradition. Whenever he’s in London, we have lunch at least once. Things certainly aren’t the way they were when we were younger, but I think once two people have that kind of complicated history together... I mean—I don’t think you can ever really come back from that, you know?”

Draco nodded in understanding. “I think I got the gist of why you ended things... And I must say I don’t blame you.”

She nodded. “Ron never really understood that what he wanted for us and what I wanted for myself were two very, very different things. He wanted to get married straight away, to have kids and for me to be this devoted wife, who dedicates herself entirely to her husband and her family and never has any aspirations of her own. And I wanted a life, Merlin. I wanted to be able to pursue my career and to help people and better myself, not just become a housewife. I wanted more than that. And he thinks I’m selfish for it... Maybe I am.”

“I don’t think you’re selfish.”

“Thank you. And,” she met his eye. “Thank you for defending me. And for getting me the hell out of there.”

Draco almost smiled at that. “Glad to be of service.”

Another minute of silence later, she spoke.

“D’you know who surprised me?”

“Potter?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t say I was expecting that,” he mused. “Obviously he and I get on a hell of a lot better than we did in times gone by... But I wasn’t expecting him to say all that, much less give me permission to actually date y—” he cleared his throat.

Hermione blushed faintly. “Er... I knew he wouldn’t go ballistic like Ron. Harry’s a lot calmer than that and we don’t have that kind of history. He’s like my brother,” she said. “We take care of each other.”

Draco nodded. “How’s your hand?”

To be honest, she hadn’t even given it a second’s thought. It was throbbing and swollen, an angry red gash spread across her knuckles; Hermione didn’t have to flex her fingers to know that she’d broken a knuckle or two. Draco examined her hand carefully and came to the same conclusion. “Come on, I’ll fix it in my room. You can lie down for a bit.”

She followed him down the hall, and sat down on the left side of the bed as always, making sure to take off her shoes so as not to stain the white bedding. He sat down in front of her, taking her right hand carefully in his right hand while he ran his wand over it, muttering healing charms under his breath.

“You’re left-handed,” she said.

Draco nodded, setting down his wand after he finished. “You hadn’t noticed?”

She shook her head. His gaze dropped to the necklace around her neck, a thin silver chain with a lone teardrop diamond hanging from it. “What is that?”

She immediately dropped her gaze and fingered the diamond. “Oh, this. It’s a necklace, Draco, obviously.”

He scowled. “Clever, Granger, really.” She smiled. “I’ve just noticed you never take it off, that’s all.”

Her smile faded. “My parents got it for me. For my sixteenth birthday.”

He didn’t say anything, figuring the topic of her parents would be a sensitive one, considering she never mentioned them.

It was as if she could read his mind. “I’m guessing you’re wondering why I never talk about them, why you’ve never met them.”

He nodded. Hermione took a deep breath.

“Almost everyone knows I modified their memories before the war. Everyone assumes it was just before I left with Harry and Ron to hunt for the Horcruxes, but er—” she paused, smiling grimly and looking down at her lap. “I did it just before sixth year, after the incident in the Department of Mysteries... I figured it was best that they leave England as soon as possible, so I convinced them that they were called Wendell and Monica Wilkins—that they had been saving up their entire lives to move to Australia—and I erased myself from their memories. And they did it—they left only a few days after that and I stayed at the Burrow for the rest of the summer.

“The only one who knew back then was Ginny,” she smiled in appreciation for the witch. “I could never bring myself to tell Ron, much less Harry; he still feels guilty, and he doesn’t quite understand that what all of us did during the war was for something much bigger. He still thinks he’s personally responsible for the whole thing, which is probably why he works so hard as an Auror.

“So they think what everyone else thinks, that I did it just before the Horcrux hunt,” she said, still avoiding his gaze. “But after the war, I tracked them down; found them living in Perth in a lovely house a few minutes from the beach. They have a dog named Rufus and a vegetable patch in the garden, and their dental practice is faring well. It’s so nice there... I’m sure that if I had been able to undo the charm they would’ve decided to stay there anyway.”

Draco frowned. “You couldn’t—”

She shook her head, and her eyes glossed over with tears for only a second before she blinked them away. “I tried, but I couldn’t reverse the charm. It seems they’re stuck that way. They’re happy and safe, which is more than I could’ve hoped for back then, but I do miss them terribly. And I wonder, if they knew what I did, if they would be proud of me for doing it, or angry for not telling them the truth. But I know they would never have left England willingly. They would’ve tried to protect me and they almost surely would have been killed simply for being my parents if the Death Eaters had known where to find them. I guess I’m not selfish enough to prefer them dead over not knowing who I am, not knowing they even have a daughter.”

Draco nodded. He still hadn’t let go of her hand, but held it the entire time she’d been talking. He wasn’t sure what made him begin to talk just then, but he didn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of his mouth.

“I don’t miss Lucius,” he all but whispered, and she met his eye.

“I don’t,” he shrugged. “I would if I could, I suppose. But I know enough about him and experienced enough of what he did not to. He was a really shitty excuse for a father, and he bred me up to become just like him, to buy into all the bigotry and brainwashing. Lucius willingly offered me up to Voldemort like a pig for slaughter, willingly put my life and my mother’s life in danger for his ‘cause’. I don’t miss him at all... I think he deserves to rot away in Azkaban like he is at the moment. He certainly doesn’t deserve for me to miss him, he doesn’t deserve my mother and he doesn’t deserve the forgiveness that she and I have worked so hard to get. I just—” he paused, not sure why he was even saying any of this, “I know enough about myself to be sure that I never want to be anything remotely like him, not to whatever unlucky witch ends up married to me, and not to whatever hypothetical children we may or may not have... But I do doubt whether I’m achieving that or not.”

“I think you are,” she said, and shrugged. “I don’t think you’re the least bit like Lucius.”

He didn’t thank her then; he didn’t think he could muster the proper words for what he wanted to say, so he kissed her. And it was different, but she didn’t resist.

It was soft and sweet; just their lips applying pressure and barely parting. So different from the usual frantic kisses they shared. Hermione revelled in it, in the feel of his hand as it gently buried itself in her hair, the softness of his cheeks under her palms. They kissed slowly for what felt like hours before undressing, peeling each layer of clothing off each other with agonizing patience. Draco worshipped every inch of her skin with his lips and hands, light and gentle as feathers.

He laid her down on his bed softly as his length entered her depths, the two of them building up a slow, purposeful rhythm, like waves washing up against the shore over and over. While their usual encounters were rushed and frenzied, they took their time for some reason; neither of them raced to finish, enjoying each stroke as if it were the last. The usual cries and moans were replaced by sighs and barely-there whispers between kisses in the dark, and it felt like hours later when Hermione felt the knot behind her navel unravel deliciously. His name passed her swollen lips in a whisper he barely heard before he followed her into oblivion, lights flashing behind his eyelids.

After, when they lay together in a tangle of sheets and limbs, her head on his chest and his arm around her, he was finally able to communicate his wish to her with words.

“Stay.”

She nodded, wrapping her arm around his waist before sleep took over.

* * *

 

(August 12th, 2003 – Hermione and Ginny’s flat – Camden, London)

Despite the fact that it was half-past six in the morning, Hermione made no attempt to stay quiet when she entered the flat, seeing as she could smell the fresh-made coffee from the hall outside. Ginny was getting dressed, so she took a shower and emerged twenty minutes later dressed for work, makeup bag in hand as she sat down to breakfast.

“Morning, dear,” grinned the ginger, setting down two mugs of coffee on the kitchen table, along with two steaming plates of toast, eggs and sausages.

“Good morning.”

“Nice exit you made last night.”

Hermione grimaced. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone with that mess.”

“You mean Ron?” Ginny smirked. “No worries, I kicked him out about three seconds after you and Draco left. He’s probably still pissed out of his mind at me; I refused to mend his nose.”

Hermione grinned in spite of herself. “And Harry and Blaise?”

“They went out for a drink, if you can imagine.”

Hermione choked on her coffee. “Really?”

Ginny nodded. “Blaise came back about an hour later in a reasonably good mood, but refused to tell me what they talked about.”

“You, probably.”

“I figured, but I’m still curious about the specifics. Just, er... Don’t mention it to Harry.”

Hermione looked puzzled.

“I just don’t want him to think I’m prying,” Ginny explained. “We’re still new to this _being friends_ thing and I don’t want to muck it up. Besides, if he and Blaise get on well, it’s better for all of us, right?”

“Right.”

“So, if the subject comes up, don’t mention I was all curious about it.”

“Consider my lips sealed. Where is Blaise, anyway?”

“He left about ten minutes before you got here, had to change and get to the office early.” Blaise worked at the Ministry as well, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and they were pretty swamped with negotiations for the reinstatement of the Triwizard Tournament underway. “Made us breakfast before he left, though.”

“And here I was thinking you’d gotten all domestic on me, Gin,” Hermione said, simultaneously eating and doing her makeup.

“Please, I’m not my mother. This breakfast, however, was kept warm with the finest charm I could muster.”

“Did Blaise offer to make us breakfast or did you manipulate him into doing it?”

“He always raves about how our kitchen is a lot more comfortable than his and Draco’s, I merely gave him a chance to use it.”

“You evil witch.”

“I asked nicely, alright?”

Hermione pushed her plate away even as she chewed on a mouthful of toast. “This meal is slave labour.”

“So, how many times did you and Draco shag after you left?”

“Tact, Ginevra, we’ve talked about this; I know we have.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Alright, once? I guess?”

“You’re not even _sure_?”

Hermione frowned. “We had some rather spectacular scotch, talked a bit and then he healed my hand—it was pretty beat up after encountering your brother’s pointy face—and we... Well, I could say we shagged but—I don’t know, it was different.”

“Good-different or oh-shit-never-want-to-see-you-again-different?”

“Good-different, I guess. I don’t know. It was gentler, more intimate than I’ve ever been with anyone... It was like we were two halves of... I don’t know,” she cleared her throat. “But afterwards he held me and I was just contemplating getting out of bed and coming back when he asked me to stay. So I did; fell asleep a few minutes later.”

“And this morning?”

“He woke up before I did and made me coffee. Then he went to shower for work and I came here.”

Ginny swallowed a mouthful of eggs before choosing her words carefully. “Hermione, are you sure the two of you are keeping this arrangement entirely platonic?”

The witch was in the middle of applying mascara, and paused to ponder Ginny’s words. “Yes, Gin. We’re just friends who enjoy the maybe-more-than-occasional round of sex. Of course we’re keeping it entirely platonic.” After a moment: “At least, I am.”

Ginny frowned but said nothing.

* * *

 

(September 19th, 2003 – Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Ministry of Magic, London)

Two sharp knocks sounded on the door of Hermione’s office.

“Come in,” she called, without looking up from the report she was reading. The door opened a second later and in came Draco Malfoy.

“Morning, Granger.”

“Oh, hi. What brings you here?”

“Three things: first, happy birthday.”

Hermione smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

“Second, I need you to sign off on this warrant to search the Henderson property in Bournemouth.”

Hermione frowned, eyeing the parchment he handed her. “Why do you need me to sign? The Head Auror’s signature should suffice.”

“Henderson’s charges are on illegal experimental magic in marriage rituals,” Draco explained. “We’d need Hit Wizards for that, not Aurors.”

Hermione nodded in understanding, before quickly signing the bottom of the parchment and handing it back to him. “What else did you need to talk to me about?”

“What are your plans for today?”

Hermione shrugged. “Not much. Harry should be here in a bit to take me to lunch, and tonight I think I’m just going to stay in, catch up on my research for the Atwater case, maybe watch a movie with Gin.”

“It’s your birthday, Granger.”

She sighed. “I’m not into the whole birthday celebration thing. Harry takes me to lunch every year, and that’s pretty much all I allow.”

“How do you feel about dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“With me.”

She blinked, and heard herself answer a moment later.

“Okay.”

“Pick you up at seven?”

“Sure.”

* * *

 

(September 19th, 2003 – Watanabi Restaurant – Clerkenwell, London)

Hermione absently played with the silver chain around her neck as Draco gave his name to the hostess and the woman—a slender, Asian witch with pin-straight black hair that smiled at Draco a little too warmly for Hermione’s comfort—checked their reservation. After a few moments, she led them to a table in the main area of the posh Japanese restaurant, the first of its kind that Hermione had been to in Wizarding London. The hostess handed them both menus before leaving them, dismissing herself with another smile in Draco’s direction. A few minutes later, a server appeared to take their order, and Hermione stole a few moments to glance around the place; the entire restaurant was the refurbished, tastefully decorated ground floor of an old factory.

“This place is gorgeous.”

“You’d never been here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve heard about it, though.”

“I came here with my mother a couple months ago and she bloody loved it.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose and she smirked. “Narcissa likes sushi?”

Draco chuckled. “Shocking, I know.”

“Can’t say I was expecting it, that’s for sure.” After a moment: “Oi, you’re wearing the tie I got you.”

He glanced down at the silver tie as if just noticing he was wearing it. “Oh, yeah. I figured it would look nice with the suit.”

“Very dashing,” she teased. “The hostess was positively fawning over you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “She was not.”

“Please, you cannot honestly say you didn’t notice.”

“Alright, maybe I did.”

“See?”

“She’s not my type, in any case.”

“You have a type?”

“I do. And a pretty specific one at that.”

Hermione could think of nothing to say to that, but was thankfully saved from answering by the arrival of their food. After the server left, Draco spoke.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why don’t you properly celebrate your birthday?”

“Does Mr. No-Granger-I-Don’t-Want-A-Bloody-Cake dare judge me?”

Draco rolled his eyes, raising his eyebrows to further press the question.

Hermione sighed. “I’ve never been big on birthdays, that’s all. I don’t really see the point in celebrating. When I was little, my parents would go all out; throw me really amazing birthday parties and make sure I really enjoyed the day. Even when I went to Hogwarts, they never wanted me to feel like they forgot; always sent me a cake and loads of presents... Now it’s just too much of a reminder of them being gone.”

Draco nodded in understanding. “I know it really isn’t my place to say this but—”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

He smirked. “I just mean—” he paused to take a breath and look her in the eye. “From what you’ve told me about them, your parents adored you. They made sure you always had amazing birthdays when you were growing up—I don’t think they’d appreciate or condone the fact that you try to ignore the day when it comes by. They would want you to enjoy yourself.

“You deserve to treat yourself, even if it is occasionally,” he said, and Hermione could see in his eyes the sincerity with which he said it. “You’re an incredibly hard-working, young, and gorgeous witch, Granger. Not to mention how kind and selfless and irritatingly smart you are. You know better.”

Hermione looked back at her plate, a blush tinting her cheeks. “I—I suppose you’re right,” she said after a few moments, smiling faintly. “But hey, this is different, right? I’m out and doing something to celebrate, I actually put on proper clothes.”

“Very dashing,” he smirked, glancing at her burgundy dress, fitted to the top half of her body and fanning out once it passed her waist. “I actually have just the thing for it.”

“Draco Malfoy, you did _not_ ,” she gaped, watching as he took a small, black velvet box from his pocket and slid it across the table at her.

“Hush,” he said. “You’ll take my gift and you’ll like it.”

She pursed her lips, but reluctantly set down her chopsticks and took the box, finding inside a pair of teardrop diamond studs. Lost for words, she looked from the earrings to Draco and back again. He shrugged.

“I noticed you never wear earrings, and I thought these could match that necklace.”

She put them on her bare lobes and offered him a smile. “These are entirely too much, Draco.”

“Happy birthday, Granger.”

* * *

(October 14th, 2003 – Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Ministry of Magic, London)

“Got a minute?”

Hermione looked up from the file on her desk to see Harry poking his head in the door. “For you, of course,” she smiled. Harry took the seat in front of her desk and ran a hand through his already thoroughly messy hair.

“Something wrong?” Hermione asked.

“Not exactly,” Harry granted, but his hand had yet to leave his hair. “Cho and I just broke up,” he said finally. “This time it’s permanent.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “Oh. Er—I’m sorry?”

Harry let out a chuckle. “Smooth, Hermione.”

She blushed a bit, but smiled nonetheless. “I truly am sorry if you’re sad about it,” she said finally. “But I can’t pretend I was ever thrilled about the two of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said. “I’m not sad, though.”

“No?”

The wizard shook his head. “I’m more relieved, if you can imagine.”

“You were dating the Wicked Witch of Hyde Park, Harry. I can perfectly picture you being relieved,” Hermione grinned when he laughed. “But in all seriousness, what happened?”

“Not that Cho’s ever been the poster girl for level-headedness, but lately she’s just been all kinds of crazy... Picking fights over every little thing, badgering me about how I work too much and we never get to spend any time together... The witch was driving me mad.”

“I can imagine,” Hermione frowned sympathetically.

“We’d just been having a shit time these past months... And my fixing things with Ginny didn’t exactly help the matter.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

“I dunno what I was expecting,” Harry shrugged. “I doubt Voldemort himself hated me as much as Cho hates Ginny.”

“I doubt any two human beings—muggle or otherwise—in the entire course of history have despised each other’s existence as much as Ginny and Cho.”

Harry laughed. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.”

He scowled, and Hermione laughed.

“Nice earrings, by the way.”

Hermione blushed, a hand flying up to finger one of the diamond studs. “Er—thanks.”

“Malfoy’s got nice taste.”

“Subtle, Harry, very subtle.”

He grinned. “I try.”

“Speaking of you fixing things with Gin,” she said, cocking an eyebrow. “How’s that going?”

Harry shrugged. “Well enough, I guess.”

“I heard you and Blaise went out after the Ron-tastrophe.”

“You _heard_?” the wizard smirked.

“Alright, Gin told me,” Hermione admitted. “Doesn’t make it any less true though, does it?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Are we going to pretend you’re not going to tell me what you talked about?”

Harry sighed. “Hermione...”

“Harry...” she mimicked. “Come on, you can tell me.”

“So you can go tell Gin everything I tell you?”

“Please, it’s been over two months. I’m sure she’s gotten Blaise to tell her by now.”

Harry cocked his head in recognition of this fact, took a deep breath and finally spoke. “We talked about Ginny.”

“I figured,” she said.

“A first year of below-average intelligence could’ve probably guessed that,” he smirked. “But yeah, we went down to Quinn’s for a pint and talked a bit.”

“And?”

“Well, I honestly tried to hate the bloke,” Harry said. “I legitimately tried to just— _loathe_ the ground he walks on. But I couldn’t.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “You couldn’t?”

“No,” Harry looked a little disturbed by the truth in his words. “Don’t get me wrong, Blaise Zabini was a right prick when we were growing up, but now he’s a decent bloke. He works hard, he’s honest and he really does love Ginny. And damn it all, I know I mucked up my chance with her beyond recognition—even I’m not daft enough to expect her to ever take me back after what I did to her... But I am glad she’s with a bloke who loves her and takes care of her.”

Hermione smiled sadly at her friend. “I wish I knew what to tell you, other than the fact that I’m glad you and Blaise are comfortable around each other.”

“Oh no, it gets worse—we’ve even been to Quidditch matches together.”

“You have?” Hermione looked shocked.

“Malfoy got Blaise season tickets for the Wasps for his birthday—we’ve been to a few games.”

“Imagine that,” Hermione mused. “If you and Blaise Zabini can be friends, there may still be hope for this world.”

“Please,” Harry scoffed. “If you and Malfoy can be friends—friends who shag, might I add—there’s hope for everyone.”

She blushed. “I’d forgotten you knew about that for a moment.”

“I’m still amazed it’s even a real thing—how did that even happen?”

Hermione avoided his gaze. “I was hoping we could avoid this conversation indefinitely.”

“Are we going to pretend you aren’t going to tell me everything anyway?”

She frowned, but told him the entire story from the beginning, leaving out the fact that he’d been in Malfoy’s office on the day they’d _formalized_ their arrangement, and leaving out the escapade they’d had in the Atrium during the Ministry party. She hesitated a bit in telling him about the events that had transpired after Ginny’s birthday dinner, but eventually she told him everything, and he listened intently until she was finished.

“Hermione,” he said slowly, as if measuring his words. “Are you sure you two aren’t... Are you sure the both of you are keeping things strictly platonic?”

“Yes,” she answered immediately. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“It just sounds like—it sounds like you may be blurring the lines a bit sometimes.”

The thought had occurred to Hermione more than once in the past two months, but she dismissed it. “I don’t think so, Harry.”

“It’s just that these arrangements are risky, Hermione. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Trust me,” she said. “You won’t.”

* * *

 

( _Stitches –_ November 1st, 2003 – Draco and Blaise’s penthouse – Brixton, London)

Hermione knocked twice sharply on the dark wooden door before her, shivering a bit inside her coat though the building was far warmer than the chilly night outside. It was evident that he wasn’t expecting her; the shock on his face said it all. He was clad in a thick, woollen jumper—an emerald green one that Hermione immediately recognized as being made by Molly—and dark pants, and an expression of pleasant surprise crept on his face.

“Hullo,” Hermione grinned.

“Evening, Granger. Come in, you must be frozen.”

He stepped back to allow her entrance to the flat, and Hermione passed him, shedding her coat and retrieving her beaded bag from its pocket.

“What brings you here?” he asked.

“Marilyn Monroe,” she said, reaching inside the bag.

“Okay, _now_ you’ve caught my interest.”

She pulled out _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_ and held it up for him to see. His eyebrows rose, and she set down the tape to extract a bottle of wine from the bag. “And also this. Ginny and Blaise are having dinner with Molly and Arthur and I thought we could keep each other entertained. Got a couple glasses?”

He disappeared to the kitchen for a moment in search of two wine glasses, and Hermione saw an overturned book on the couch, that he’d evidently been reading until she appeared. Picking it up, she saw that it was _Pride and Prejudice_. Draco returned a second later, and she looked at him questioningly.

“You’re reading Jane Austen?”

He nodded, setting down both glasses beside the bottle of Pinot noir on the coffee table.

She smirked, sitting down on the couch. “Glad I’ve been such an influence on you.”

“The worst influence,” he smirked back. “Listen, it’s er—it’s good that you’re here.”

Hermione looked confused. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” he sat beside her. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“Oh. Talk about what?”

“This.”

“This?”

“Yes, this; you and me.”

“You and _I._ ”

“Now is not the time for correcting my grammar, Granger.”

“No? Then what is it time for?”

“Have you ever wondered if we could...” he trailed off, looking at the flickering flames in the fireplace.

“If we could what?” she pressed, looking more confused than ever.

“You know... If we could give this a proper go. Give _us_ a proper go.”

She blinked, startled by his words. “What, like a—a relationship?”

She didn’t expect him to be as bluntly honest as he was. “Yes, exactly like a relationship.”

Two seconds of silence. Then four seconds. Then six. A full ten seconds passed before she spoke.

“You must be barking mad.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Am I?”

“Yes, Malfoy, you are.”

“Are we back to surnames, then?”

“We are if you’ve gone off the deep end. And you’ve called me Granger for as long as I can remember.”

“Fine, _Hermione_ ,” he said pointedly. “But you’re acting like the mere notion of you and I having a relationship is entirely insane.”

“And it _isn’t_?”

“No! It really isn’t—” he took a deep breath and when he spoke, his voice was softer. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

No hesitation on her part this time. “Yes.”

“Alright. Besides that that, in and of itself, is a ruddy _miracle_ , let’s add the fact that we’ve been shagging for the past eight months. And on top of that, let’s add all the bloody times we’ve worked late together, and gone out for lunch or coffee, or all the countless movies we’ve watched. And Ginny’s birthday. And the fact that you’ve completely charmed the pants off my mother—another miracle, if you ask me. What happened really isn’t surprising.”

“And _what_ exactly, happened?” she asked.

“At some point, Merlin knows _why_ , I developed feelings for you,” he said. She saw in his grey eyes that he wasn’t lying, and it terrified her. “And I think you feel the same way.”

Another tense silence. Then: “Well, you’re wrong. I—I don’t—we’re just _friends_ , Draco.”

“Just friends?” he laughed, and the sound was harsh. “ _Just friends_ don’t shag, Granger, and they certainly don’t do it the way we did after Ginny’s birthday dinner.”

“That was—that was just a one-time thing, Draco, it doesn’t mean that—it doesn’t mean I’ve got _feelings_ for you, I don’t have feelings for anyone!”

“Damn it, Granger... I knew you were stubborn but I didn’t know you were so deeply in denial.”

“I’m not,” she said, so confidently that she almost believed herself. She stood and grabbed her coat. “I—I’m going to go. And I don’t think we should continue our arrangement.”

He nodded, and it was the last thing she registered before bolting out the door.

* * *

( _Youth -_ November 1st, 2003 – Brixton, London)

The chill settled heavily around Hermione’s shoulders, the heels of her boots tapping briskly on the sidewalk as she walked away from his building. The knot in her throat grew inexplicably tighter, her breath creating small puffs of white smoke in the night air. The street was fairly busy despite the cold, and she registered the chatter of a crowd of muggles exiting the nearby cinema.

She decided to walk until she calmed down enough to Apparate to her own flat in Camden, as splinching herself would be less than ideal. She took deep breaths then, watching as the white fog escaped her mouth. She knew he wouldn’t follow her, not after all that had just been said, and she couldn’t yet decide if that was a good or bad thing. She thought of the look in his eyes as she left, the unopened bottle of Pinot noir on the table...

 _No_ , she berated herself, _it’s for the best._

One salty tear rolled down her cheek, leaving an icy trail. Another followed, and then another.

“Damn it,” she choked out. Taking another deep breath to steady herself, she continued on her way until she found an alleyway into which she could slip and Apparate without being detected by the muggles in the street. Ignoring the prickling in her eyes as she closed them, she turned on the spot and left the empty alleyway behind her.

 

 


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge conditions:  
> 1) Main pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger  
> 2) Ron and Hermione are on good terms with each other; they never got married.  
> 3) Ginny is dating Blaise Zabini. Ginny and Hermione are close friends.  
> 4) The following line must be used: "I don't think I'd be into that." The person who says it must turn out to be very 'into that'.  
> 5) Harry is an Auror, Draco works at the Ministry as an expert/consultant on Dark Magic. They get along well.  
> 6) A Grindylow, Newt Scamander, a tiger and a hippo must appear at some point in the story.  
> 7) There should be black velvet somewhere. There should also be red velvet.  
> 8) Fred is alive and he and George must play a prank on Hermione or challenge her to a dare, which ends up being good for her in the long run.  
> 9) Time frame: around five years after the War.
> 
> Songs mentioned:  
> Can't Pretend – Tom Odell  
> Stuck On The Puzzle – Alex Turner  
> Colors Pt. 2 – Halsey  
> Firewood – Regina Spektor  
> Sail - Awolnation  
> All I Want – Kodaline  
> Not About Angels – Birdy
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters, names, places and things you recognize belong to JK Rowling. Her world, I'm just playing with it.

_"The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple."_  — Oscar Wilde.

* * *

 

(Two weeks later)

(November 14th, 2003 – The Lantern Restaurant & Pub – Diagon Alley, London)

"Hermione, are you even listening?"

She blinked, looking at the wizard in front of her as though just noticing his presence. Harry peered back at her through his round spectacles, his expression filled with equal parts of amusement and concern.

Hermione blushed, fiddling with the stem of the untouched glass of wine in front of her. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit distracted. What were you saying?"

"You've been  _distracted_  for about two weeks now," Harry said pointedly, setting down his beer. "Forget what I was going on about... What's going on with you?"

"With me?" Hermione echoed. She hadn't said a word about it, but gone on with her life as if nothing were wrong. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone,  _anyone_  noticed, but she didn't think it would be so soon.  _Damn it._

"Yes. Now, are we going to pretend like you aren't going to tell me what's wrong, or are you just going to spit it out already?"

She sighed. "Nothing's wrong, per se."

Harry frowned. "But something's different."

She looked down at her drink again. "Draco and I are" —she chose her words carefully—"no longer involved."

Harry's eyebrows flicked upwards only for a second, but he showed no other signs of surprise. "I figured it was something to do with him," he said eventually.

Hermione frowned. "Oh?"

"He's been short-tempered for weeks. I had a meeting with him last week and well..." he chuckled a bit. "I hadn't seen Draco in such a foul mood since Voldemort was still running rampant. The man trashed four quills before the meeting was over."

Hermione blushed. "I figured he'd be upset with me."

"With you?" Harry frowned at that. "What's got his knickers in a twist?"

Hermione finally took a sip of her wine before speaking. "Basically, I went over to Draco's a couple weeks ago to watch a movie and when I get there, he tells me he'd been meaning to talk to me about something. And then he tells me that he'd like to actually have a relationship with me—that he'd developed feelings for me and he'd like to take things further."

Harry looked taken aback for only a second. "And I'm guessing you told him you wanted no such thing."

She grimaced. "I believe my exact words were  _you must be barking mad_."

Harry snorted. "Nice, Hermione. Very smooth."

She shrugged. "What was I supposed to say? He was saying all these things—that it wasn't really that insane that he'd developed feelings for me after all the time we'd spent together and how close we'd gotten and I just—I panicked, Harry."

He nodded in understanding. "And I'm guessing you very rationally suggested that the best thing for both of you would be to steer clear of each other for a while, no?"

"It was my idea to end things, yes."

"And have you talked to him since?"

She shook her head. "I've sent him a couple owls, but he hasn't answered any of them, nor has he returned my calls."

"Yeah, it makes sense he'd want some space after that..." Harry looked thoughtful for a moment.

Hermione frowned. "How are you so calm about this? I just about had a minor heart attack when he told me all that, and you're sitting here like I've just been talking about potions ingredients."

Harry smirked. "Hermione, be honest. You're really telling me you never saw it coming?"

The witch blinked. "You're telling me you did?"

"It wasn't that hard to catch on," he shrugged. When she still stared at him incredulously, he elaborated: "Come on, 'Mione. The man took you out to dinner on your birthday, he got you diamond earrings; you met and charmed his mother. You've been practically joined at the hip for months; you spent at least half your time together, between going out for coffee, or lunch, or whatever, spending time with each other and your  _activities_ —"

"Harry, I'm a big girl; we were having sex."

The wizard made a face. "As okay with it as I am, you're still like my sister and the thought of you actually having sex with Draco Malfoy is...well, frankly it's a little off-putting."

She rolled her eyes. "Can you please make your point?"

"My point is," Harry went on. "I think what happened is perfectly reasonable... Hermione, people—yes, even people like Draco, who claim to be masters at emotional detachment—have feelings; no one I know can claim to have successfully kept things platonic with a friend-with-benefits... People get attached. I'll admit, I did think that if anyone were going to develop feelings for the other, it would've been you."

She nodded, having reached this conclusion herself. "I feel guilty," she admitted after a few moments. Harry looked puzzled, so she kept talking, voicing the thought that had plagued her for a fortnight and that she had yet to say out loud to anyone. "I don't know if—I'm not sure what I told him was true."

A few seconds of silence passed. "You're not sure if you don't have feelings for him?"

She shook her head. "I panicked, Harry. He just kept talking about how he'd like to try it and I just told him we're friends, we're just friends."

Harry sighed, pursing his lips. "Hermione, would a relationship between you and Draco really be that bad?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scoffed, but she avoided his eye. "It would never work between us—"

"Hermione," the wizard interrupted. "However private and unintentional it may have been, the both of you were acting like a couple. As much as you want to deny it, it would work—it was working. The fact that we're even having this conversation is proof that you've given the matter some thought."

She frowned. "You're supposed to be on my side, Potter."

He laughed. "You sound a lot like Draco when you say 'Potter' like that... I  _am_  on your side. That's why I'm telling you—you're being an idiot."

* * *

 

(November 16th, 2003 – Hermione and Ginny's flat – Camden, London)

_HAS MALFOY HEIR FOUND LOVE AT LAST?_

The headline stared up at Hermione from its page of  _Witch Weekly_ with malice, almost. Not knowing if she actually  _wanted_ to read the rest of the article, she ignored the photograph beneath the headline and skipped on to the article:

_Spotted: twenty-three year old Draco Malfoy, sharing a romantic, candlelit dinner for two with a mysterious brunette at a posh London restaurant. Witch Weekly's sources were able to confirm that the brunette in question was none other than Astoria Greengrass, the youngest daughter of businessman Hamish Greengrass, and younger sister to fellow socialite Daphne Greengrass. The two former Slytherins have been spotted around each other quite frequently as of the past few weeks, and speculation arises in regards to their budding relationship—are they just friends, or something more? Both Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Greengrass were unavailable for comment, but sources close to the witch have been able to confirm that the two have been quite chummy lately. For the full photo spread of the two's evening out and some individual shots of the pair, see page thirty—_

Hermione flipped the magazine shut at the same time as her eyes, feeling the burn of unwanted tears behind her eyelids.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

"Hermione? Are you home?"

The slamming of the front door and Ginny's voice calling out to her startled the witch enough that she opened her eyes. She felt the tears spilling down her cheeks a moment later, and tried to keep her voice steady as she answered.

"Y _—_ Yes! I'm in here!"

The ginger appeared a moment later, entering the room just as Hermione was reaching for the box of tissues she kept on her end-table. "You will not believe who I ran into at the mark _—_ what's wrong?"

Hermione shook her head, mopping up the tears from her face with a tissue. "Nothing's w—"

Ginny quirked an eyebrow at her and Hermione relented, reaching for  _Witch Weekly,_  discarded on the bed. "Page five," she muttered, handing Ginny the magazine.

Ginny flipped through to the aforementioned page, her brown eyes scanning the article in seconds, her eyebrows rising higher and higher as she read. Finally, she frowned. "Hermione..."

"Please don't say  _I told you so_."

"I won't," she said quickly. "Granted, I am  _very_ tempted to say  _I told you, you had feelings for Draco_ , but I won't."

Hermione snorted inelegantly, as she was still crying. "You actually sort of just said it, Gin."

The ginger frowned, realizing her mistake. "Bugger." After a moment, she sat down on the bed beside her friend. "How do you feel?"

Hermione gave her a look. "Not fantastic," she said. "I mean, this is just p—perfectly fitting, isn't it? I s—spend the past two days figuring out what to say to him, how to ap—apologize, working up my n—nerve to actually go see him, and just when I think I h—have it all figured out, his face is all over  _Witch Weekly_ , having dinner with some other witch who is most definitely not me..." her voice cracked, but she kept talking. "I mean, it's a bit ridiculous that I didn't see this coming. Of course he was going to move on. We ended things; I don't think Draco is the sort to expect me to come back... Which is all very nice and logical and all of that, but it doesn't explain why on earth he'd start dating  _Astoria Greengrass_  of all people."

Ginny chuckled. "If she's still the vapid, boring, spoiled brat she was at Hogwarts—and from what I've heard, she is—I can't imagine how he tolerates her."

"I imagine Narcissa must be beside herself," Hermione smirked, imagining the witch's reaction.

"Indeed," said Ginny, now scanning the magazine again. "Oh, my Merlin. Draco must be pretty desperate to get over you if he's dating  _that._ "

Hermione looked at the page Ginny was showing her and stopped crying abruptly at the image. She'd been expecting a paparazzi shot of Astoria and Draco on their  _romantic, candlelit dinner_ , but instead saw an obviously touched-up photo of Astoria, lounging on a leather chair in robes of rich black velvet. The witch wore a number of elaborate rings on her right hand, which rested atop the head of a Bengal tiger cub. According to the text at the bottom of the page, the photo had been taken for a special Witch Weekly edition featuring quote-unquote  _famous socialites_. Hermione's eyebrows rose.

"That's most definitely not the Astoria I remember."

Ginny took back the magazine. "I caught sight of her at the Ministry's Christmas party last year. It seems she finally got around to fixing that pig's snout she called a nose... Got rid of the acne, too, from the looks of things."

Hermione laughed. "You're absolutely horrible, Ginevra."

"I know," the ginger grinned. "That's why you've kept me around all these years."

"Yes, that and your nonexistent cooking skills," said Hermione with a laugh. "Honestly, it's like you're adopted."

" _Anyway_ ," Ginny said pointedly. "What are you going to do about this?"

"About what?"

"You're not telling me you're honestly planning on letting this be?"

"No..." said Hermione. "I don't know... What can I do?"

"I don't know, Hermione. All I know is that  _this_ ," she waved the magazine around, "is more than likely not true." The ginger pointed to the author's name, printed in acid green just below the headline.  _Skylar Fox_ , it read. "I would take anything that woman writes with a grain of salt. She's the new Rita Skeeter, it would appear, and ninety-five percent of her articles are based off of pure speculation, and exaggerating and twisting the few facts she can get her hands on."

Hermione knew that Ginny was probably right. Even so, she couldn't help but doubt. "Still, what if it is true?"

"Then I bet my wand it's nothing more than a desperate attempt to get over you. And if that's the case, then I don't think you have much time to waste, darling."

"No," Hermione sighed, lying back on the bed. "Not a minute."

* * *

( _Can't Pretend_ \- November 21st, 2003 – Auror Office – Ministry of Magic, London)

Hermione took exactly two deep breaths before she knocked on the door to his office.

"Come in," called his voice and she did, closing the door behind her and making a point to stand up straight. He looked up at her and gave her the once over as she walked towards his desk, case files clutched against her chest, and she was instantly reminded of the day she walked into his office and proposed the arrangement. But things were different now, she reminded herself.

"Malfoy," she greeted.

"Granger," he responded curtly, his grey eyes closed-off to her. Distant.

Things were very different now.

She took a seat at his desk and was about to ask how he was when he cut her off. "You have the file?"

"Er—yes," she said, handing him the topmost file in the stack she carried. "Everything you might need is in there, but if there's anything else you find, let me know."

He nodded, looking over the papers inside. "Yes, this seems to be everything. Was there anything else you needed?"

He said all this looking at her nose, avoiding her gaze completely. It took Hermione a moment to register his words, and she quickly shuffled through the rest of the files in her lap before finding the one she needed. "Y—yes. I actually needed to talk to you about the Sheffield case."

He frowned. "I'm not familiar with it... Why do you need me to look at it?"

"The plaintiff—Melinda Sheffield—is suing her ex-husband, Damien Sheffield, for the sole custody of their two children, aged ten and fourteen, after their youngest son was injured while riding a broom during his previous stay at his father's." She handed him the file and watched as he opened it and began reviewing its contents.

"Mister Sheffield claims that the boy fell on his own, but a quick revision of the broom proved it had been tampered with. Mrs. Sheffield's lawyer approached me and requested we take a look at it, and I was hoping you could assist in stripping down the broom, trying to figure out if it was Sheffield himself who hexed it—if you have the time, that is."

"Hmm... Yeah, I think so," he said finally. He was still avoiding her gaze.

"Malfoy."

He didn't look up from the file.

"Could you please look me in the eye?"

He made no indication as to having heard her, but continued his perusal of the case file on his desk. Hermione felt her temper rise, but kept her voice steady.

"Draco."

He froze, halfway through turning a page. "What do you want, Granger."

"I want to know why you haven't looked me in the eye once since I came in here."

Draco sighed, swallowed, and leaning back in his chair, looked up. Grey eyes locked on brown.

"Why are you so angry at me?" she asked of him.

Draco scoffed. "You're not seriously asking me that question, Granger. You're much too smart to not know the answer to that."

She found that she couldn't hold his stare, and her gaze dropped to her lap. "I suppose I deserve that... Look, I  _understand_  that you're upset with me—"

"Upset with you?" he echoed, getting up from his seat and walking away, his back to her. "What gave you that impression? It's not like I have any reason at all to be the least bit angry with the great Hermione Granger."

"Bloody hell, Draco, I'm trying to talk to you!" she burst out, and for once, he fell silent, but still refused to look at her. She got to her feet as well, but didn't approach him.

"I know I fucked up and I know I acted rashly, alright? I can accept that I reacted poorly and that I pushed you away and all the other things you want to fault me for, but can you blame me? You were saying all that and I wasn't expecting any of it! When we started spending time together, we agreed to keep things strictly physical—and yes, somewhere along the way the lines got blurred, but you can't blame me for never realizing—"

"Never  _realizing_? Oh, bullshit, Hermione," he turned to look at her. "After Ginny's birthday, things changed. You are the most observant person I know—annoyingly so. You know they did. Don't lie to yourself."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Alright, yes,  _fine_! Things changed, and I did nothing to stop it until it was too late. That's all on me. But this—" she gestured between them "— _this_ —this... avoiding each other, not returning my calls or my owls, this  _childish_ behaviour, this is all you and it's ridiculous. It's—it's beneath you, Draco.  _You_ —goddamn it—why are you seeing her?"

The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, and she felt the tears well up in her eyes, but she'd be damned if she was going to cry in front of him. She attempted to blink them away furiously, to no avail.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "Seeing whom?"

"You know who I'm talking about," she all but spat, brushing her hair away from her eyes.

After a moment, he understood. "You've been reading Witch Weekly," he accused, a smirk tugging at one side of his face.

Her eyes narrowed. "So what if I have?"

"So, you're tragically misinformed," he almost chuckled. "Granger, I'm not seeing Astoria."

She blinked, moving back to the desk and organizing her files, feeling a pressing need to get out of there. She tried very hard to keep her voice steady as she spoke. "Oh, so all of those pictures of the two of you very closely sharing a bottle of champagne are false?"

"No," he granted. "But I'm not seeing her. Astoria is interested in buying one of Mother's country houses and since  _she_  can't even attempt to stomach the witch, I offered to discuss the matter over dinner. Any other sightings of me with her have been on outings to see the houses so she can choose—there's your explanation. I have no interest in seeing any oth—" he cut himself off, clearing his throat. "Why do you even care? You're the one who said we needed to stay away from each other for a while, why does it matter to you if I'm seeing someone or not?"

She picked up the files from the desk, ignoring his question completely and taking a step towards the door. "I need to go."

"Hermione." He grasped her by the arm, not roughly, but strongly enough that she couldn't just walk away. "Why does it matter to you?"

She looked him in the eye. "Why do you think?" she whispered, her eyes glazed over with the unshed tears from before. He took another step towards her, and she now noted they were closer together than they had been since the last time she'd been in his apartment—the last time she'd had an actual conversation with him at all.

"Granger..."

"Malfoy, let me go."

"Just—"

His free hand reached for her face but she wrenched her arm out of his grasp, walking out the door before he even had the chance to utter another word. It occurred to him that it was the second time in recent memory where she'd bolted out the door without looking back.

* * *

( _Stuck On The Puzzle -_ November 23rd, 2003 – Draco and Blaise's penthouse – Brixton, London)

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

"Are you even listening?"

He blinked, stealing a glance at the wizard next to him. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit distracted. What were you saying?"

"Distracted with what?" Blaise asked. "The match isn't even that interesting, and Liverpool is playing like shite," he added, pointing at the football game the pair was currently watching. "What's going on?"

Draco shook his head, fiddling with the beer he was currently holding. "Nothing, really."

"Draco..."

"Blaise..." he mimicked.

"Cut the bullshit and tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Oh really? Is that why you've been such a regular ray of sunshine lately?" asked Blaise. When Draco frowned, he nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

A moment of silence ensued, until Liverpool scored a goal and Blaise celebrated.

"Now," Blaise said a few seconds later. "What's happened with Granger?"

"What makes you think anything's happened with Gr—" Draco stopped abruptly at the knowing look on his friend's face. "Alright, fucking  _fine_ , Zabini... Granger and I ended our arrangement a few weeks ago— _she_  ended our arrangement a few weeks ago."

Blaise frowned. "Well, that explains your foul mood."

"Does it?" Draco asked.

"It means you haven't shagged in a month  _and_ the bird you were shagging left  _you_ , so yes. It's a pretty good explanation, as far as they go."

"You're a prick... You know that, right?"

"Nah, mate. I just call them as I see 'em," the wizard grinned. "So, what did you do to make Granger end your mutual— _thing_?"

Draco snorted inelegantly. "I love how you just immediately assume I did something and she didn't act of her own volition—" once again, Blaise shot him a knowing look that cut him off. "Alright, I did something. Hell if I knew it would have such disastrous consequences to tell the bird I had feelings for her."

Blaise, caught in the middle of taking a drink from his own beer, very nearly spit it all out at this revelation. "You  _what_?"

"Oh, yes. I was apparently not only mad enough to break the terms of our agreement and develop feelings for the witch. I was also out of my fucking mind to the point where I actually told her." Blaise said nothing, and Draco pressed on, staring intently at the television.

"But oh, wait, Zabini. There's more. Not only did I fall for her, not only did I tell her I did, but I suggested we give it a go. I was actually blind enough to assume that she felt the same and wouldn't mind formalizing what was virtually a reality and putting a name to all the shit we'd been doing together for months. And, Merlin's balls, that's not even the best part!" he laughed, a dry, mirthless cackle.

"The best part," he went on, "is that after nearly three weeks of cutting off all type of contact with her, after three weeks of trying to shut her out of my fucking brain, all my effort was practically in vain, as  _she_ was the only one in the entire Ministry of fucking Magic with access to a file I needed, which meant I actually had to see the bird. And on top of that, the blasted woman waltzes into  _my_ office on those stupid heels that make her legs look amazing and—she just— _Salazar's beard_ , she saw the article."

Blaise spoke for the first time since his friend had begun to rant, his eyes showing a bit of shock. "Article?"

"The bloody article in Witch Weekly," Draco clarified. "I could very well wipe my arse with the kind of things they're printing these days—the lunatics published an article about my  _rumoured relationship_ with none other than Astoria Greengrass."

Blaise's eyebrows rose. "No one in their right mind would actually believe you to tolerate that bint for more than forty-five minutes without putting a Silencing Charm around her," he paused. "Not sober, at least."

"Well, not that this is a huge surprise to me, but it appears that Hermione Granger is  _not_ in her right mind."

"You're saying she believed the article?"

Draco nodded. "Not only that, she just—" he took a drink from the beer in his hand. "I don't think she was jealous. She looked  _hurt_ , more than anything—and there was a moment where it seemed like—Like she almost regret what happened, like she  _does_ feel the same way after all... I don't know. I don't want to get my hopes up for nothing. She just bolted, without even giving me a real explanation. I'm tired of watching her run away."

Blaise looked thoughtful for a moment. "Mate, I can't really tell you what's going on in her head, because Merlin knows I've never been the best at understanding the opposite sex. But I  _can_  offer you some advice."

Draco almost smirked, his eyes on the dark glass of the beer bottle in his hands. "And what would that be?"

"You really care about her?"

"More than I'd like to admit," muttered the blond.

"And you're tired of watching her leave?"

"Yes."

"Alright then. The solution is simple. Next time she tries to leave, go after her, you daft prick."

* * *

( _Colors Pt. 2_ – November 29th, 2003 – Diagon Alley, London)

Hermione thanked the barista once more before leaving the muggle coffee shop. Hot drink in hand; she once again noted the oddly satisfying  _tap-tap_ of the heels of her boots made against the sidewalk. Even though the sky overhead warned of the possibility of snowfall, she took a sharp turn to the right, thinking that the afternoon could do with a trip to Flourish and Blotts. She drank her coffee (double latte, extra foamy, with two sugars and a shot of cinnamon) as she went, and she'd finished it by the time she'd reached the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, discarding the disposable cup in a nearby bin. She passed the dark pub with a polite nod towards Tom, the bartender, and made her way to the door that held the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Even though there were still almost four weeks until Christmas, the street was as crowded as possible, and it took Hermione the better part of ten minutes to manoeuvre her way to the bookshop, so that by the time she reached the entrance, her hair was dusted with the first flakes of the imminent snowfall. Catching her breath, she greeted the clerk and made her way to the first row of shelves. In recent years, Flourish and Blotts had expanded their selection to include muggle literature, and Hermione quickly located a copy of James Joyce's  _Ulysses_ conveniently placed beside one of Gilderoy Lockhart's books. It peaked her interest, and she looked through it while walking down the row of shelves; it wasn't five seconds until she bumped into someone.

"Oh, terribly sorry—I really need to learn not to read and wa—" she stopped short when she realized who it was that she'd bumped into. "Ronald."

"Hello, Hermione," he said.

They hadn't seen each other since Ginny's birthday, almost four months ago, and he looked completely unchanged—Hermione didn't quite know why that surprised her. His nose, obviously mended after she broke it, was the same as ever, long and freckled, his hair tousled and his form muscular underneath his coat. His arm was in a sling though. That was odd, but she didn't immediately question it.

"What are you doing here?"

Glancing down at his recovering arm: "I injured myself in a match last weekend. Took two bludgers to the arm at once; I got a few snapped tendons, a broken elbow and a couple other broken bones. They were able to mend most of the damage right away, but the Healers advised that I take a few weeks off to fully recover—so I'm back until after New Years."

Hermione nodded. She'd seen something about that in the paper, but had failed to notice that the player injured had been  _Ronald Weasley, Captain and Star Keeper for the Quiberon Quafflepunchers_ —as the press so often referred to him. "Er—right. Well, it was nice seeing you, but I should really get going, the snow—"

"Hermione, wait," he said, grabbing hold of her arm and quickly letting go when she looked down at the offending hand. "I—I've been meaning to apologize."

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"Yes. I realize it's been a while, but I was—" a look around at the shop revealed that their exchange had drawn a few spectators who were watching the conversation closely. "This isn't the place," Ron said in a lower voice. "Do you think we could go somewhere more private to talk?"

Biting her lip, she thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Alright... Just let me pay for this and we can go back to my flat."

* * *

( _Firewood_ – November 29th, 2003 – Hermione and Ginny's flat – Camden, London)

Hermione unlocked the front door to the flat, tossing her keys on the nearby table. She was vaguely aware of the fact that they hadn't been alone together to this degree in years—since they were still together and shared a mid-sized flat over in Wembley. She led Ron into the living room, the both of them shedding their coats as they went. Extricating her wand from her purse, she quickly lit the fireplace so as to warm them up from the chill outside, and both witch and wizard stood awkwardly in the middle of the room until Hermione spoke.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea, maybe or..." she trailed off, unsure.

"Er—yeah—tea is—yeah, tea is fine," Ron stammered to answer, his ears faintly pink.

Hermione nodded. "Alright, just make yourself comfortable and I'll be right back."

She walked into the kitchen and was about to put the kettle on when she had a better idea. She took a bottle of firewhisky from the cabinet, tapping the top with her wand to open it. For a moment, her mind flashed back a few months to a very different kitchen and a certain blond wizard demonstrating the charm she had just used on a bottle of very expensive wine. But then she shook her head as if to clear it, pouring a glass out for herself and Ron, and walking back to the living room.

Ron had taken a seat on the couch, and he looked at her questioningly when she offered him the firewhisky, and she shrugged. "I figured this conversation warranted something a bit stronger than tea," she said simply. He nodded in understanding and she took a seat on the chair nearest him, waiting for him to speak.

"I guess there's no beating around the bush with this," he began. "I've been thinking about the matter quite a bit, and it seems to me that there's a long list of things I should apologize to you for, beginning with the fact that I'm sorry for how things ended between us, and I'm very sorry for how I treated you then, and how I've treated you recently."

He took a sip from his drink, and Hermione looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry, too."

"You have very little to be sorry for, if not nothing at all," Ron said. "I'm also sorry about how I acted at Ginny's birthday—" and he did, he looked very sorry. He paused, and almost as if it had taken him quite a bit to reach this conclusion, he carried on: "who you decide to be with is no one's business but your own... Even if I don't particularly care for Malfoy—"

Hermione snorted, and it was the first time she genuinely smiled since meeting Ron a half hour prior. "That's putting it gently, to say the least."

"Alright, so the bastard isn't my favourite," Ron smirked. "Be that as it may, whatever is going on between you two is not my choice or my business or anything like that—it's yours. You're my friend and I want you to be happy, and if that means that you're with Malfoy, then so be it."

She almost smiled, and for a moment she felt very much like crying, but she masked it with another sip of her drink. "Well, there's no need to worry about me being with Malfoy anymore," she said finally.

The ginger looked confused. "There isn't?"

She shook her head. "Draco and I broke off our arrangement," she began. "Or rather,  _I_ broke off our arrangement."

Ron's brows furrowed together in further confusion. Hermione sighed, and over the course of the next minutes, she updated him on the past and current events of her situation in regards to Draco Malfoy. By the time she had finished, both drinks sat on the coffee table, their glass warm and their contents running very low. Ron had listened intently as she spoke, and he looked thoughtful at the end of her story. Oddly enough, he made no attempt to voice his opinion until she asked him what he thought.

"So you care for him?"

"More than I'd like to admit."

The answer came to her lips so easily that she was barely aware of saying it until she already had.

Ron nodded. "I hate to say this—honestly, I do—" and Hermione chuckled, grateful for the humour that relieved a bit of the tension from the situation. "But from what you're telling me, it sounds like Malfoy cares for you just as much."

"I have no idea what to do," she admitted.

"That's pretty simple," Ron said. "Don't let him get away. Believe me, if you do, you'll regret it down the road when some other witch steals his attention."

Hermione didn't quite know why, but she blushed.

* * *

( _Sail_ – December 2nd, 2003 – Auror Office – Ministry of Magic, London)

Draco walked into the Auror Office wrapped in a black coat, his hair and shoulders dusted with white snowflakes. He had chosen to get his morning coffee (double latte, extra foamy, with two sugars and a dash of cocoa) at a muggle coffee shop a few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron, and the walk to the pub to safely Apparate had been a snowy one. Greeting a few co-workers, he walked over to the vicinity of his office, spotting his secretary Dalia, a small, slim witch of about twenty.

"'Morning, Mister Malfoy," said the witch brightly. Dalia had long, pin-straight black hair, a sharp fringe level with her eyebrows framing her bright blue eyes—Hermione had referred to her once as  _the pretty version of Pansy Parkinson._

"Good morning, Dalia," he greeted. "Anything new?"

"You have a couple owls from clients... Auror Longbottom sent a note requesting a meeting at your earliest convenience. Oh, and your mother sent a note as well." She handed the wizard his mail and he turned towards the door leading to his office.

"Oh, Mister Malfoy, wait!" she called after him, and he turned. "You forgot your paper, I put it here somewhere."

The witch rummaged about on her cluttered desk for a moment before producing the aforementioned paper and handing it to Draco. After thanking her and excusing himself, he entered his office, closing the door behind him and tossing everything Dalia had handed him on his desk. He was in the middle of shedding his coat and placing it on the coat rack beside the door when something caught his eye. On his desk, half-hidden beneath the morning's Daily Prophet that Dalia had just given him, was the most recent copy of Witch Weekly. Realizing that the secretary must have given it to him by mistake, he was halfway to the door to return it when something on the cover jumped out at him.

_RON WEASLEY AND HERMIONE GRANGER: HAS THE GOLDEN COUPLE REUNITED AT LAST?_

He would later conclude that it had been sheer shock that had made him actually flip to the inside of the magazine to read the article in full.

_HAS WIZARDING LONDON'S GOLDEN COUPLE REUNITED AT LAST? By Skylar Fox, Daily Prophet correspondant._

_Spotted: Hermione Granger, these days known for more than just her title of 'Brightest Witch of the Age', and Captain and star Keeper for the Quiberon Quafflepunchers, Ron Weasley, having a cosy chat between the shelves at Flourish and Blotts. Mr. Weasley has been spotted about quite a bit recently, as reports show that he's returned to England for a little R &R following his grievous injury a couple weeks ago during an international match against the Bigonville Bombers. While Witch Weekly was unable to reach any sources close to the couple, we have been able to confirm that after leaving Flourish and Blotts, the two headed to Ms. Granger's flat in Camden, from which Mr. Weasley departed almost two hours later. For the moment, we can do nothing but speculate, but a source has told us that the pair have had lunch together nearly every time Mr. Weasley has been in London since the two's infamous split almost four years ago_— _a stint during which, to the best of our knowledge, neither of them have been romantically linked to any other witch or wizard. For photos of the pair's reunion in Diagon Alley, see page fourty-five._

Draco went through the rest of his day in a sort of trance, not fully registering his actions. Had anyone bothered to keep count, they might have noticed that he had broken no less than thirteen quills by the time he went home at four o'clock.

* * *

(December 12th, 2003 – Atrium – Ministry of Magic, London)

Hermione stole a glance at her watch. She had exactly twenty-three minutes to have lunch before a meeting with her boss, and her stomach was almost roaring at the prospect. Quickening her pace as much as her high-heeled boots would allow, she mentally composed a list of the things she needed done before going home that afternoon:

_1) Successfully buy and eat lunch in the next twenty-two and a half minutes. No, I need about three minutes to get back to DMLE, so I only have nineteen minutes for lunch. Bugger._

_2) Get through this meeting with Hitchfield. Alive, preferably._

_3) Brief Higgins on Weinberger case._

_4) Call Harry about dinner next Friday at the Burrow._

_5) Call Ginny about_ —

But she was interrupted mid-thought by the sound of her name being called out. Looking around, she quickly spotted Narcissa Malfoy, waving at her from a few feet to her left.

"Hermione!"

"Narcissa?" she walked over to the elder witch, greeting her with a hug. "How are you?"

"I'm fantastic, darling," Narcissa gushed. "It's been so long, you look marvellous, how are you?"

"I'm quite well," Hermione smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to have lunch with my son, but it appears he's working," Narcissa said with a roll of her eyes. "And through his lunch hour, can you imagine?"

Hermione smiled in spite of the knot that had formed in the pit of her stomach. "That's actually a really bad habit of his."

Narcissa looked only mildly horrified. "That boy will be the death of me, I swear." Then, it seemed as if the witch had a thought. "What about you?"

Hermione blinked. "What about me?"

"Would you like to join me for lunch? It's been simply ages since I've seen you, we must catch up."

Hermione blushed, glancing quickly at her watch. She had barely fourteen minutes left for lunch. "I think I'm about to skip luncheon, actually. I have a meeting with my—" And then, her phone started ringing. Fishing it out of her purse, she saw that it was the intern currently serving as her assistant. "Hold that thought—Just one second," she told Narcissa.

"Hello?"

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Helena, what is it?"

"Mister Hitchfield's assistant just sent word that he had to see the Minister rather urgently," came the young witch's voice, "—so, er, he won't be able to make it to your meeting today. He asked if you could possibly reschedule for Monday?"

"Er—yes," said Hermione. "Book him at whatever time I have free Monday morning. I'm off to have lunch—we can discuss this when I get back..." She glanced at the elder witch for a moment. "Actually, on second thought, could you please clear the rest of my afternoon? I have some things to do."

"Yes, of course, Miss Granger. I'll see you Monday then?"

"Yes, Helena, I'll see you Monday. Have a nice weekend. Thank you." And with that, she hung up the phone.

"As a matter of fact, I  _am_ free for lunch," she told Narcissa, who beamed.

"Where would you like to go?" asked Narcissa.

"Well," said Hermione. "I know a really great place in Diagon Alley—how do you feel about Italian food?"

"Enthusiastic, to say the least," said Narcissa with a smile.

* * *

( _All I Want_ – December 12th, 2003 – Diagon Alley, London)

Some three hours later, Hermione said her goodbyes to Narcissa before the witch Apparated away. She debated returning to the Ministry before remembering that she had asked Helena to clear her schedule for the afternoon and, looking around at the snowy Alley, she decided she would stroll around for a bit.

Adjusting her purse on her shoulder, she turned to head up the street, looking up absentmindedly at the snowfall. It wasn't ten seconds before someone bumped into her; the stranger caught her by the arms just before she toppled over.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he said.

She found herself face to face with Draco, and only a second later did she register the shock on his face that must have mirrored her own.

"It's alright," she said. Then they both realized he was still holding her, and the wizard let go almost instantly before taking an awkward step back.

"Er—Hello," he said finally.

"Hi," she replied. ""Er—what brings you around here? I thought you'd be at the Ministry."

"Took the afternoon off—I was shopping, actually," he said. When she looked confused, he elaborated: "For Mother's birthday present." He held up a package under his arm.

"Oh, that's nice. I just had lunch with her." It was Draco's turn to look confused. "We ran into each other at the Ministry after you stood her up." She said the last bit with a disapproving look on her face, and Draco shrugged apologetically.

"I got an owl that her present was ready to be picked up and I couldn't very well come get it with her. You can imagine the state  _that_ would put her in," he imitated Narcissa's voice shrilly. " _Draco Malfoy, have you no concept of decency! Bringing your mother along to buy her own birthday present?"_

Hermione actually laughed at that. "Fair enough. What did you get her?"

"A new jewelry box, I got the Malfoy crest engraved on it."

"Oh, that's lovely."

They were suddenly left without conversation and a moment of awkward silence transpired before Draco spoke.

"Er—I was going to stop by your office on Monday," he said.

Hermione frowned. "My office?"

He held up the briefcase he held in his hand other hand. "I have the information you needed on the Sheffield case you had mentioned. Well, most of it," he amended, "I'm still waiting on one last test on the broom."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Hermione said. She paused. "Well, er—if you want, we can go over those at my flat. That way you won't have to wait until Monday."

Draco looked surprised. "Oh. Well, alright."

* * *

( _Not About Angels_ – December 12th, 2003 – Hermione and Ginny's flat – Camden, London)

They Apparated to the landing outside the flat, and Hermione rummaged through her bag for a few moments for her keys, to no avail. Draco chuckled, and she looked up at him.

"What are you laughing at?" she frowned.

"Nothing," he smirked. "I just find it funny how you still forget sometimes."

She just blinked at him in confusion. "What?"

" _Accio_   _keys_ ," he said simply, wand out, and they zoomed out from the depths of Hermione's bag. He caught them a moment later, offering them to the witch. She scowled at him, being careful not to graze his fingers with hers when she took the keys. A moment later, she opened the door to her flat.

"Merlin, I'm freezing," she said, dropping her things on the table and rushing to light the fire as she shed her coat and scarf. Draco followed, dropping Narcissa's gift and his briefcase on the table as well.

"Would you like something to drink?" she turned to him as he removed his coat. "Er—tea or..."

"Or?" he smirked.

The corner of her mouth turned upwards. "I've got firewhisky."

“I thought you didn’t drink firewhisky.”

She shrugged. “Times change. It would appear that almost a year in your presence has turned me into a witch that can handle firewhisky.”

His smirk turned to a grin. "That's more like it."

* * *

A while later, they were lounging on the floor in front of the couch, the bottle of firewhisky on the coffee table, slightly less full than it had been when Hermione brought it out. Documents from the Sheffield file were strewn about, and Hermione was going over one which detailed the analysis of the spells placed on the broom that had injured the Sheffield's younger son.

"Blimey," she said. "There was a Catapulting Jinx on it? That could've easily thrown him over fifty feet—he could've been killed!"

"No, it merely shoved him off," Draco said, looking at the boy's hospital report. "He landed on his side—couple cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder." He smirked at the sheet of paper before him. "It appears that the youngest Sheffield is on the heavier side, to put it lightly."

Hermione, focused on the documents, failed to grasp his meaning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he's about as fat as my great-aunt Millicent. You remember her, no? The one at the Ministry's Christmas party last year. You compared her to a dancing hippo from some Muggle picture."

"You're horrid," Hermione scolded.

"I'm not kidding, look." He held up a picture of the child.

Hermione looked and couldn't help but smile a bit. "He's a dead-ringer for Dudley."

"Who?"

"Harry's Muggle cousin. The most spoilt, self-indulgent child ever to grace this earth."

Draco pretended to be offended. "More so than me?"

Hermione snorted. "Don't get me wrong, you were a real piece of work when we were children, but you're no Dudley Dursley."

Draco almost smiled at that. "I'll take your word for it."

"Oi, you didn't happen to test for wand signature, did you?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you take me for, an amateur?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and he handed her the appropriate document. She scanned it and frowned. "Walnut and unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches, bendy... Where have I seen this before?"

"Isn't it the father's?" Draco asked, refilling both their drinks. She took a sip and began shuffling through papers, shaking her head.

"No, his was oak and dragon heartstring, I remember..." Apparently having found the document she was looking for, her eyes scanned it before widening. "Merlin's beard."

"What?" he leaned over to read what she'd found, coming closer to her than they'd been in ages. "What is that?"

"Melinda Sheffield's registry form for the case. Look at her wand."

Draco read off the form: " _Walnut and unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches, bendy._  Holy fucking shite."

" _She_  jinxed the broom!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why in Merlin's name would she do that?"

"Hang on a minute," Draco said, and now it was his turn to shuffle through papers before finding the one he was looking for it. "She's suing for sole custody, right?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, taking a sip from her drink.

"Per their current,  _shared_  custody agreement, Sheffield doesn't pay alimony. But if she were to have sole custody, he'd have to pay."

Hermione's eyes went wide with understanding. "Merlin, she's doing it for the  _money_."

Draco nodded, still looking through all the papers. "And from the looks of this, it's the first time either child has been injured under their father's care. We'll tell Hitchfield on Monday. He'll probably get full custody."

Hermione nodded. She sighed, leaning back against the couch behind them. After a moment, another thought popped into her head.

"You didn't ask me how lunch with your mother went."

Draco had been organizing the documents and placing them back in the folder they came in, and paused to look at her. "I didn't want to pry. Did she—y'know—ask anything important?"

Hermione almost smirked, but failed to meet his eye when she answered. "You mean, did she ask why you and I don't" —she chose her words carefully—"spend time together anymore?"

She finally stole a glance at him and saw that he was now also avoiding her gaze, running a hand through his hair. "Well, yes."

"She did," Hermione said. "I obviously didn't give her all the details; I just explained that you and I had a bit of a misunderstanding and fell out."

Draco nodded. "Brilliant," he said. "Thank you."

"No need," she said. "Er—she invited me to her birthday party."

"Did she?" said Draco, and Hermione noticed he didn't seem even mildly surprised. He'd probably expected it, knowing Narcissa.

She nodded. "Er yes—but I'm not sure yet if I'll go."

"You should go," he said, and she blinked.

"You think so?"

He shrugged. Trying to keep the conversation as casual as possible: "I really think Mother would enjoy it if you did."

She nodded. "I'm sure she would."

A moment of silence ensued, then they both spoke at the same time.

"Grang—"

"Drac—"

They both fell silent and blushed. "I'm sorry," she said. "You go first."

"Well," he said, now looking intently at the contents of his drink. "I actually wanted to apologize. I haven't been behaving properly towards you since—well, since that night. I caught you off guard and I don't blame you for reacting the way you did. I've been a right prick to you, and I'm sorry."

Hermione almost smiled. "Apology accepted."

"I hope you and Weasley are happy," he said finally, still not lifting his gaze from the glass of firewhisky.

Hermione shook her head. "You've been reading Witch Weekly," she accused, a smirk tugging at one side of her face. "You shouldn't believe everything you read in gossip columns, Malfoy. You know better."

"Is that so?"

"He did come here that day, but it would appear that running into wizards I've fallen out with and inviting them over so they could subsequently apologize to me, has become a habit of mine."

Draco looked a bit confused.

"He apologized for how he behaved on Ginny's birthday and we talked for a bit. I'm not seeing him," she said finally. After a pause, she mustered up her so-called Gryffindor bravery and added: "It also appears that I've developed feelings for someone who is most definitely not Ronald Weasley."

"Oh?" he said, now looking up, trying his best to not look hopeful, though he felt that way.

"Yes," she said, looking at him in the eye. They were very close, their shoulders brushing, having not moved since he'd come closer to look at Melinda Sheffield's form. She took a deep breath and continued. "Look, I'm sorry I responded the way I did that day. Yes, it caught me off guard, but only because I had been so deeply in denial about it. I'm not going to lie, Draco, I'm terrified. You scare the hell out of me—the idea that  _something_  between us, something  _real_ , could happen, scared me shitless. But I'd also be lying if I said you aren't the best thing to happen in my life in recent memory, and that I miss spending time with you the way we grew accustomed to doing.

"Oddly enough, it took not only Ginny, but Harry and Ron to get me to see reason. Yeah, I know, I was shocked too," she chuckled a bit at the look of surprise on his face when she mentioned Ron's name. "They think you're good for me. And well, I do, too. I think... I think we're good for each other, Draco. I think we bring out the best in each other. Maybe I've already fucked this up beyond repair, but all the same..." she sighed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is: I'm willing to give this an honest go with you, if you'll still have me."

Draco had been watching her closely while she spoke, and debated a lengthy answer, but hesitated. He searched her warm brown eyes for any hint of doubt, but found only a mild nervousness. Finally, he closed the inches between them, capturing her lips in a soft, reassuring kiss that tasted of firewhisky, his hand buried deep in her hair. She responded immediately, and the feel of his lips against hers was so familiar, so perfect, that she hummed with content. After what felt like hours, they separated. The hand in her hair moved to caress her cheek, while hers rested comfortably on his chest.

"What happens now?" she asked finally.

"Well, Granger... How would you like to be my date to Mother's party?"

She smiled. "She'll probably have both our heads if we don't go together."

" _Hell hath no fury_... What do you say?"

"I'd love to, Draco," she said, and her finger moved to trace a lazy trail along his collarbone. "But in the meantime," she went on, her voice low and her breath tickling his earlobe. "I know the perfect way we can make-up for our  _dreadful_  falling out."

"Do you?" he asked, moving her to place her on his lap.

"Mhmm," she placed a kiss just below his jawbone, her fingers working to unbutton his shirt.

"You're going to be the death of me, Granger," he smirked.

"Maybe," she said with a smile, her lips brushing against his. "But what a way to go."


End file.
